Sadness of the Sea

It was raining, as it always did in Washington, the slow and steady fall which seems like a drizzle but soaks you as effectively as a monsoon. The waves crashed against the base of the cliff where he stood, looking out over the seemingly endless ocean, into the depths of the darkness beyond the light. He quietly stood, his black hair occasionally blowing into his unblinking eyes. The knife was still in his hand, crimson tinted in the dull light. Pink tainted water dripped from the blade as the rain washed away the blood. The man's brown eyes stared still at the sea, his thoughts centered on an image only his eyes could see. Marionette like, his head dropped, lolling slowly to the side. He closed his eyes slowly, a single tear falling down his cheek, mingling with the rain water. The wind began to pick up, its gusts blowing his leather duster behind him, wings of a forsaken angel. His arm moved suddenly, the hand releasing the bloodied knife, sending it flying over the edge of the cliff into the surging waters below. Behind him a street-light shut off, throwing him into a quasi-darkness. More tears flowed from his eyes as he turned and walked toward the highest part of the cliff. As he followed the well worn and familiar path a voice called from the parking lot of the park. He glanced up and saw an obviously drunk man walking toward him, a second man close behind. He sighed sadly and continued walking. The men continued to follow him as he made his way up to the empty clearing on the bluff. 1

"Hey faggot, we was talking to you!" said one of the drunks as they drew nearer to the black clad figure standing on the ledge. "You look like one of them homos we heard about." He continued. The second drunk pulled out a cheap folding knife and pointed it at him. 2

"We know you have money, people like you always have money." He slurred as he stumbled slowly toward his 'victim'. "Give us the money and you can go home. No one gets hurt." 3

The man studied the two for a moment, his expression unreadable. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. Peeling off four bills, he tossed them at the two. The weaponless one picked them up and counted them. "Four hundred dollars huh? I saw more than that in your hand, we want it all." The man raised an eyebrow at the two. 4

"Give us all of it or I take this here knife and spill your little faggot guts." He stepped closer to the man and stabbed at him for emphasis. "What's it going to be, faggot?" He asked, a superior grin on his face. The man smiled slightly and stepped forward, his hand suddenly on the mans wrist. With his other hand he ripped the knife from the drunk's grasp and slammed it into his shoulder. The man screamed and tried fight back but found he could no longer use his arm. 5

"It's going to be painful..." He said softly, spinning the man around quickly. He pulled the knife from the mans shoulder and stabbed him at the base of his spine, with a quick but strong pull, he opened the mans back, his spine revealed in the dim light. Blood poured from the large slash and onto the moist grass. The drunk's friend cried out in surprise as his friend's spine was ripped from his body and tossed away. He turned to run and tripped over a rotting log, leaving his friend's lifeless body lying bleeding on the ground. Screaming at the top of his lungs he tried to stand up and suddenly felt an iron hand on his neck. He screamed and flailed at his attacker, but to no avail, he couldn't escape his captors grip. The man in black pulled a wire from a hidden pocket on his coat, the silver line virtually invisible in the darkness below the tree. With practiced ease, he wrapped it around the struggling man's neck and pulled sharply. The mans screams intensified as the skin was sliced easily, the wire stopping just before it cut into the carotid artery. The drunk tried to fight back as the man's hands found their way on either side of his neck and grasped the folds of skin. He began to beg as the skin peeled away from muscle and meat, his voice being drowned out by his own screaming. Suddenly, the man in black jerked upward and the drunk fell to the ground, his body spasming from shock. Holding the mans face in his hands he turned it right side out again and looked at it. His mouth twisted into a small smile before walking over to the man on the ground. 6

"I know that you can hear me... You can't blink once for yes or no, or much of else at this moment, due to the fact that I am currently in possession of your face. But I know you can hear me. I'm not going to kill you... I'll leave you to you. Imagine now..." He spoke softly to the man. "Every child you see will cower in horror of what you are. You will be shunned, and you will eventually be killed for being different... I didn't make your life worse, I've just brought out what was inside... " He brought the mans face into view. He put it on the man's chest, the grotesque mask staring into nothing. The unblinking eyes of the man looked back, glazed over from pain, though intelligence still within. "Here is your friend's knife, he won't be needing it." He put the knife into the man's open hand and turned to walk away. "And before I go, I am not a faggot. I am bisexual." He continued back down the path to his original position and sat on a boulder and looked back out at the ever changing ocean. So much sorrow, so much pain... Nothing was as sad as the sea that he now watched. From the woods came a scream that quickly died away, replaced by the sound of the waves crashing against the cliff, and the wind, moving between the trees like children, playing a game of tag. The black dressed man stood and looked out over the ocean one last time before turning and walking down another path, the shadows swallowing him. On the boulder where he had sat, lay a single black feather, not stirring despite the heavy winds that played about it. All that remained of his passing.7