I remember when I was a little girl, I always tried to stick my finger through the smoke rings my grandfather blew into the air. But they always fell apart. Now, I cannot smell the scent of vanilla without thinking of things falling apart.
That was a long time ago, and now I am a grandmother. I never took up the habit of smoking, but today things are different. Standing on this pier, coughing like a teenager, and giggling like one as well. The boats in the fog move slowly in the distance, gliding smoothly over the grey water. And what else? What else lies under this watery blanket? How many ships? How many piles of bones have been swept under the carpet of sand and silt that make up the bed of the sea?
My cigarette is done and I flick it into the water, pulling my coat tighter around my body. It is a dismal day to be standing here contemplating the secrets of the sea when I have a secret of my own. It is a secret that has been eating at me for over a month now. A silent killer. It darts around my brain and it feeds on my thoughts and ideas, and then they are gone for good. I have thought about telling my secret, but no one would benefit from the knowledge, not one single person. So I let it eat me in silence. Not that I can stop it. They say it's too late. It will start with my brain and ravage the rest of me.
I step out of my shoes and place them neatly off to the side. This way will be quicker, and then I will just be another pile of bones for the sea to sweep away, hiding my remains forever under it's wet, heavy blanket.
