This text exists as a First draft and does not represent the final version of this short story. If you read it and have any thoughts, positive or negative, I would greatly appreciate hearing them. You'll find links to places to reach me at the bottom of the page. Thank you. I love you.

In each neighbourhood, in every city in the world, there is someone like me, who spends their waking hours in a daze, leaning against window sills, pressed to the glass. Each of us waiting for a first glimpse of something new, or something long lost. I would spend those sulky winter afternoons there, tracing my fingertips along the curves of the coast, each time imagining it as your path. That you’d gone, over those waves, far from this old city. Disappearing there, folded into a fine line, stretched forever along the horizon. I’ve always felt that’s where the greatest power lies, where the ‘is’ becomes the ‘is-not,’ in the endless possibility of the world unseen. Tonight there is little to be seen from the window, the evening light clogs the city's arteries, Salt gathers on her windowsills, Waves dance across her skin. The wind slices through hearts and minds, carrying with it songs of absence keenly felt. Its sound alone; a spurned lover out in the rain, is enough to cast sorrow to the base of my lungs, where it fills them like ballast, drawing me ever down. It leaves me with an unshakeable feeling that there is a call I must answer, that the city outside holds some great truth I could not hope to grasp alone. A promise that through some configuration of streets, I would find myself at the foot of something I had been searching for, yet been unable to find. I drew the curtains, and wrapped myself in the warmest things I had to hand, yet it quickly became a feeling I was unable to dismiss, the rattling of the vanes only increased, I began to feel that there was some truth I should have realised by now, even if only through the simple connection of randomly neurons, yet by some terrible coincidence, I had failed to reach. It was as if, at that moment, the error in my reasoning had become so severe that the world around me was shifting to deliver the truth to me. It was a feeling akin to a faint buzzing between the ribs, as if something burrows and coils there, a string around a finger, a note on the fridge; it cries: ‘Do not forget.’ On this night the air feels sharp and wicked, laced with smoke and spice, laughter and companionship spilling out under doors and across thresholds, before losing itself within the wind and rain. I choose a street at random and begin to walk, with no destination in mind but to chase whatever calls me, I know that no warmth or companionship can await me at the end of this path, but neither is there any to be found back the way I came. I wind my way through the moonlit streets, ducking under awnings and eaves, finding shelter where I can. The streets seem to urge me onward, some great wind at my back, urging me past darkened homes and shadowed streets. I make some attempt to mark the passing of any familiar sights or landmarks, yet find I pass none on my way. These streets are as unfamiliar to me as I am to them, I am a guest, so they do not open themselves to me. Soon my nostrils begin to burn with the scent of salt and bitter sea winds, and I find myself ejected from that place I had occupied so briefly, standing before the sea, the city behind me again familiar and alive with light. The sea before me danced in aimless fervour, lapping against the earthworks and gravel shores. Here is where the city falls away, where it reaches its grasping hands ever outwards. From here I can make out the vast silhouettes of the bluff that frame the view of the horizon, atop it sits a great tower, an august light that stands unmoving, upright, among the masts that buoy in the waters of the bay. From that height there can be no horizon, nothing that can go unknown. From the sight of that light there must be no reason to ever return, how could you ever have left? Looking at it now, I feel a deep desire to step into the waves, to carry myself to its base, and cast myself upon its rocks till I am flotsam on the waves. If there were to ever be some centerpoint in the spiral of my life, it must be that tower, the way it yearns for me. A needle forced into the earth, a place of return, a place of departure. The light turns to face me, and turns away again. It is an ecstasy so briefly, and so complete, that I could chase it always. Yet Here where the arteries of the city pour from the body, the salt wind hounds my step, and the cold bites, the frigid touch of the water caught upon the wind as it lands upon my face is enough to discourage such a direct path. My skin rises, I shiver and turn up my collar. Yet as I turn away, the night becomes darker still, a shadow crossing the moon. The streetlights seem to dim, taking with them any feeling of solitude these streets had held. There comes a gust of wind, and the heavy reverberating sound of large wings coming to rest. My chest tightens, and the hum within me becomes a great scream. I turn and meet its gaze, that of a great seabird, a wingspan built for life at sea, its eyes little more than empty black marbles in the dim light. Yet looking into them is as if leaning too far over a well, yet within them, a wide and empty sea of black. It tilts its head, side to side, side to side, examining me with each eye. In the moonlight it is as some wind-up porcelain toy, repeating its dance. Despite its tilts it never breaks its gaze with me, and I find my legs fixed in place, unable to move further or nearer to the creature, even as it opens its beak, and my ears begin to ring. In the darkness of its maw I see that black ocean, and I feel myself upon an empty sea, afloat on some small vessel, yet distinctly not alone. Before us is an island, occupied by grove of trees, and rings of tombs. As its beak closes I find my nails dug into my palm, blood dripping from my knuckles, my brow slick and my breathing hot and fast, yet I find myself again able to move, to flee this time. I tear myself from its gaze and begin to run, clumsily, flailing through the streets, which seem again entirely alien to me, though now the shadows seem to stretch and fall inward. The buildings form ranks against me, tightening, leaving no gaps through which I could slip. Air catches in my throat, I retch and choke, and struggle to keep myself upright, and through the haze of sweat and fear that clouds my eyes, I search for any sign of a landmark to which I could moor my sense direction. Yet all that meets my reaching senses is the reverberations of steady wingbeats, bouncing across the empty streets. For a time I feel as if I may finally have evaded my pursuer, the wingbeats fall away, and I allow my pace to slow, and my breathing to calm. winding through the streets as the sun finally falls completely beneath the horizon. The air now is still and cold, a complete absence of wind my only true landmark. I must have made it far from the coast, but I know nothing more. My nose burns, I bury it in my collar. As my breathing calms and my heartrate stabilises I find and odd calm falling over myself, despite the unknown streets that surround me. Here under the new moonlight there is nothing that must be done, and no expectations to be placed upon me. I allow my feet to carry me where they will, rounding corner after corner, making my way down avenues and streets. Each entirely indistinguishable from those before, and each completely devoid of life. Yet, a city, in essence, is nothing without habitation. These row houses that surround me, the same as those I might find in my neighbourhood. Some larger, some smaller, some even with cars parked on the street. Still it is somehow clear to me that these have never held life, and that they never will. They serve no purpose but to provide some cohesion from where I was, to wherever it is I'm going. I begin to feel that cold terror creep up my spine again. I quicken my pace. By moonlight it is easy to find oneself in another city, one they don’t recognise, the less loved twin of the city they call home. I had no way of knowing for how long I paced through those streets, evading wingbeats and shadows, I had become prey easily corralled, but there was no choice other than to continue forward. I only broke from this fearful stupor as I found myself standing before a small square. The kind found dilapidated in some sullen quarter of the city, its benches collapsing and its bricks falling away. It was as if I had been washed upon an unknown shore, and I stopped for the first time since I had fled the coast. Without any sign of my pursuer, and the air stagnant and lifeless, I allow myself a moment of rest, and lean against the crumbling brickwork. Even with a moment to reflect and inspect my surroundings I find my situation no more familiar, this square is not one i’ve ever visited, and the buildings on either side remain the same, each largely identical outside of small differences, each entirely empty of life. The stillness unfurls as a figure alights on the solitary tree in the square, one whose leaves are already rotting into the cobblestones. It turns to me, giving me the fullest view of its immense silhouette. Its wings unfold, and brings with it the cold sea breeze, casting the entire square into shadow. I am all at once cold and desperately alone, as if a light within me had finally been blown out. The branches rustle, my coat whips around my legs. I consider for a moment scaling the slick bark, hand over hand until I am face to face with the figure, until its eyes are no longer hidden to me, that I may reach out and feel its feathers beneath my hand. But what would I do, when presented, face to face with something that had until then seemed so far out of reach? Instead I find myself turning away, away from that tree, away from the figure that darkened and twisted its shape, away. Turning down streets and avenues at random, I feel sodden, my clothes clinging with each step, as if I had myself fallen into the ocean, and dragged myself back to shore. Yet with each street taken I feel it behind me, closer this time, hovering above me, wind, or breath, against my neck. It's difficult to know how long it circles me, how long I spend running through those streets, not daring to look behind me. Can it see a route through these twisted streets? Does it carry with it a golden thread, to ensure its safe return? I round a corner, and a great light blazes in front of me, a lonely constellation on a dark sky. A fountain, ringed in light, drawn up from the cobblestones. I stand there in the centre, swallowed by the light as the figure descends. It settles upon the edge of the fountain, and for the first time I see its face clearly. Its eyes are a sickly yellow, surrounded in thick clumps of crust. A beak that chitters and clicks. Mottled feathers, wounds and marks, cuts that ooze and bleed. My nostrils burn with the scent of cypress needles and salt. In its eyes is a great well of pity. It opens its beak. Before it can make a noise, before I can think, My hand reaches, slowly, and then with great fervorous need, to wrap around its throat. Beneath my fingers it seems to throb and writhe, bulging between the digits, and I find myself at once surprised that something so delicate could sustain itself. I clutch. I squeeze. Blood pools on the cobbles, pours over my fingers. I squeeze. Bones break, skin tears, feathers coat the ground, yet it does not break its gaze. A shrill and guttural gurgle, a breaking wave, rips itself from its throat. I squeeze. Its bones pierce my own skin, blood intermingles. Something crunches. I squeeze. I squeeze until it falls limp, till the light is chased from its eyes. Till my breaths come in ragged heaving waves, till my fingers shake and my muscles ache and burn; I squeeze. As I turn and walk from the fountain, the streets seem to open before me, the avenues wide and empty. I soon find myself turning into streets I recognise, the city drawing me back in. In a trance I allow myself to be led back home. Yet the bird follows me home, a trail of blood and mottled feathers falling behind me, my hand still clutched around its throat. The streets seem to open before me, the avenues wide and empty, the way home clear. Yet when I find myself standing outside my home, it feels entirely different, unfamiliar. As if, were I to cross that threshold, I would be rejected by the building itself. I would no longer be recognised. It is the home of a previous version of myself, and I can never inhabit it again. Instead I fall behind a steering wheel, turning the ignition with a soft and intentional hand. Tearing away from the city, one which now holds nothing for me, before it can swallow me again. In the passenger seat a shadow looms, and bile seeps into the fabric. I clutch the wheel and tear across the empty streets. The city falls away behind me, until I'm lost among the trees and hills. The roads curve and bend with the land, plunging in the darkness. The car bounces, the roads this far from civilization are treacherous. From the passenger seat it croaks, my hands tighten on the wheel. The interior reeks of salt. "She left because of you" In the Halogen light the horizon heaves, stitching itself back together within the thin cones, filling in the edges as the car gorges itself upon the new territory. Each pothole throws vibrations up my spine, and the mass of feathers melts further into the passenger seat. "She won't come back" I drive, for hours, or days, until the treeline thins and falls away, until ahead is only the sea, the end of the world, where all things collapse. The land stretches to a single point, earth and limestone, and atop it all, that great needle, thrusting into the sky, spinning, churning, entirely indifferent. The engine idles, the wind fights to refuse me exit. In the headlights the grasses dance, the way forward clear. A great weight hangs around my throat, the passenger seat empty and cold. "In ten years the fault under your feet will fracture" Mud swallows my boot, the air bites, each step becoming little more than a stagger forward. "shallow, without warning" My nostrils burn, filled by the stench of rotten meat and cypress needles. Either side of the path they loom, swaying gently in the wind. "It will have been long overdue" Yet here, near to where the bluff meets the sea, even the grasses thin and fall away, their roots finding no purchase. "This land will collapse into a sea that will swallow it without notice" The door to the cabin is unlocked, the inside cold and dark. The wind abates as I bolt the door behind us, yet I find my steps no lighter. "The loss of life will be staggering, of those that flee, none will return" Inside, the staircase looms, a great mouth, descending, down into darkness. Moonlight through the solitary window does little to illuminate the darkness. "On low tides, the domes of buildings will break the waves. Smoothed flagstones will line the beach" With each step down the air grows staler, heavier, nothing but rot now. My eyes water, my nostrils flare and contract. My throat pulls me down. "They'll never know how many lost themselves to the waves. Bones will wash up for generations." A churning, frantic, wet sound rises from below as I descend, further into the darkness. "They'll forget, move on" The stairs end, a viscous and churning black liquid filling the staircase, the steps vanishing into it. "But you'll still be here, When this is a featureless stretch of coastline, when new development finally rolls in. Looking out to sea, watching for lights on the horizon. Waiting for her to come back" It is only as I step down, till my legs vanish into the liquid, and my eyes begin to adjust that I realise the water is instead a writhing mass of slick eels, each a pulsing vein, twisting around one another, their pale eyes fixed on me. It is here I understand what great purpose has led me here, what the streets and waves and rain and wind have been trying so hard to tell me. I fall forward. "She's always returning, She never will."

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Thank you again for reading this draft, if you have any thoughts or feedback, I would love to hear them, so I can improve this before I submit it anywhere. I can be reached on discord at 'jermalorewiki' or on tumblr here