(Author’s note: I’m in the USA. I’m on dry land. I’m jet lagged beyond all hell. I apologize if this isn’t coherent. Here’s the fictioneers for this week, a day later than normal.)
by Miles H. Rost
The wind made a mess of Brian’s hair.
He stood, looking out at the ocean. He stepped out of the vehicle, and within a moment he was alone.
He felt the entire weight of his years descend upon his soul, the experiences of his many years crushing him.
Brian completed his assignments, did what he needed to do, and ended up here, a place that he long had felt lost. He wasn’t home, but he wasn’t familiar with the place.
Like the waves he was spying, the emotions crashed into him repeatedly.
A tear fell.