The earth and the sea seemed to pause as Allie approached the cut off spectre of, well… where…. and for some reason she couldn’t shake the thought of something called Dock 19.
As the giant grey spotted sea bird circled Brigadoon to locate the drop point, Allie remembered a seated, cordial man when she first arrived at that mysterious shore… humungous table… yes, yes… Shill was his name.
(Slumber / historical visions / etches in table) How come when I pause to listen to the nothing, I feel like I am going to fall out of myself… that’s the last thought she had when she finally came out of the hypnotic miasma beneath her opening eyes.
Allie was never one to blench, perhaps a result of her foul father… (she was unaware she twitched) but the redoubtablely deep darkness lying ahead, beyond an unassuming moonlit sea, was for all intents and purposes, a welcomed place.
She hadn’t thought about it earlier, but her cough, in her retreat, returned… quite harsh, with an uncomfortable amount of crimson… then she jumped upon the table wearing worn jeans and a ripped cotton t-shirt, both completely dry from the wavy grass.
She put her tightened hands over her head, crouched to a fetal position, and scrunched her eyes closed, as tight as she knew, before she felt the beast breathing vomit into her ear.
The quiddity of Allie Carraig was apparently returning, or at least trying to, along with the unchartable beach tides and that enormous table which was more like an archeological tableau, complete with cryptic scrawl and unexplained epithets.
As the numinous gray spotted sea bird made imprint after imprint plodding forward up the beach, Allie finally got a solid look at her sunken boots, which were lying useless beyond the imposing bird near the waterline… she impulsively retreated back to the table with the monster closing. (Reeeeeeeaaaaarrrraaarrrreeeeeeaaaaarrrrr)
Allie instinctively crouched and did a bit of a spider walk up to the continuously waving grass, where her clothes, much to her astonishment, were not only dry but also sandless.
The large (that was an understatement Allie thought) bird landed without effort near the small bend in the beach… Allie cautiously slipped into her warm clothes and wondered, as sand spouted up between her toes, where her boots were.
The piebald colors of her favorite, at least that’s what she instinctively thought, snack were lined up very inviting, in a perfectly neat line… Allie had the yellow gooseberry in her left hand.
As the ocean insisted on splashing and pesky clouds continued to close about the moon, the emaciated Allie Carraig put the succulent berry into her mouth, and with eyes now closed, slowly bit down and savored the sour burst.
Allie looked carefully around as she somehow (how?) knew to… foaming sea splashed in; moved out; then spun in tiny eddys about her shaking, deep planted heels… in/out/splash… in/out/splash.
She tilted her weary head and violently sneezed; then came a long armed, rather disgusting nose wipe… she knew she needed to move up the beach… Allie swallowed a harsh flinch… then suddenly fell straight to the sand when her shocked eyes saw what was on the table.
Allie’s taut, fully hard body found an elasticity in it’s graceful, meandering glide and gooseflesh glisten… and she continued to rub and gently wash away her compounded filth within nature’s vast, salty tub.
As the night kept breathing and thickening clouds morphed into flared nostrils, Allie’s floating thoughts suddenly turned valedictory… she felt a shivery twinge and frantically flailed to get out of the ocean immediately.
Along the jagged shores of Brigadoon, the vicious, unrelenting pound of the gelid sea seemed to cease under the sweater of a blackening sky, like a simple backyard pool that sat still and luke warm with post-party slumber.
She picked up baby Stella, fell to her knees as prophecy dictated, slowly closed her weeping eyes, and with the slightest hitch in her breath, began.
Stella’s small body began to quiver under a piercing stare that never broke… drool slowly seeped from the corner of her pink mouth, which was quickly swabbed by the queen herself; the final overseer of this isolated and splash blasted, ancient rockiness.
Zenobia raised both arms, shook her hands violently side to side, and never broke eye contact with baby Stella… birds flew at speedy angles and began to congregate up and ’round; darkness happened then. Just darkness.
As a moonlit fog confronted darkness, Allie struggled to pull her torn shirt above her head, back and forth hips wriggled out of her pants, and hefty boots, one at a time, plopped down on the shore leaving their mark.
She stood, completely nude, shameless and hard… letting her worn hands slowly slide over her tender, aching breasts… she took a deep breath, looked up, then down, and slowly waded into the water.
“Sweetheart, I am just trying to show you why we prosper…it’s ok…you’ll remember this and thank me one day beautiful…stop resisting…you stupid… you useless, lazy bitch…like your… wasted…mother…c’mon, your father is talking to you.. “.
Allie opened her knowing, bloodshot eyes, stood straight up in the dank, and walked toward the water.