Haven't written anything for over a year. Suddenly seem to have my motivation back and I've just written this tonight. A little piece about a character I've been writing for a few years. Not edited. Literally just written it. Would love some feedback as I try and get back into things!
Alex visited the Beach quite often. Not that he'd ever admit it, should anyone ever ask. He was a City boy; born and raised. Though, not from the glamour people always pictured when they thought of the City. His City was a far cry from London. Especially the Estates. They were full of deprivation and poverty. Crime was a way of life. The way most people fed their families. Alex had got out as soon as he could.
The beach was freedom. A million miles from the inner city slum that Alex called home. She had liked the beach. It was her that took him. That very first time. She hated the City. She had always dreamed of a getting a cottage by the sea. Or hut. Whatever they call those beach houses. He could see her now, flicking back her long blonde hair, smiling up at the blue skies above. Daintily she held up a finger and let it hang in mid air; "the salty sea breeze," she murmured, "can you taste it, Alex?" She moved her finger toward his lips and parted them gently. His tongue trailed across her finger. "It's freedom," she said with a smile. He smiled, how could he not? But it was the City where he belonged. Not the slums, those days were gone. He'd moved up in the world. But the City was where his heart was. The chaos, the noise, the pollution. It was all he had ever known. "One day..." he told her. But that day never came. Not for her.
Once a year, Alex would return to that very spot. "Freedom," he whispered, holding his bottle of whiskey up; toward the blue sky above. She'd have laughed if she could see him now. "Who wears a suit to the beach?" That's what she'd say. Of course, she'd be right. Who would. White shirt, black trousers. Though, he had at least removed his tie and waist coat. They were discarded on the sand next to him. Along with his shoes and socks. He grimaced. Sand between his toes. He'd be finding grains of the stuff all year.
Alex took a long swig from the bottle and laid back on the sand. Sun set was fast approaching. He supposed he'd better stay for that. For Her.
The truth was, she'd hate him now. He'd failed her. In more ways than one. He had no right to sit on this bit of sand. To think of her. This was hers. Unspoilt and perfect. And his mere presence was unwelcome. He sat up sharply. He should go. He brushed the sand from his greying hair and stood up. He didn't want to go. To leave her. His hand clenched the neck of the bottle. "I'm sorry," he murmured. He drained the remaining whiskey and tossed the bottle into the sea. He watched it for a while, floating on the waves; bobbing in and out of view.
He walked back over to where he'd left his shoes. He kicked his waistcoat across the sand, revealing an unopened bottle of whiskey. "Here's to you, my love." He picked up the bottle and unscrewed the cap; chucking it to the ground. "Have one on me, darling," he said bitterly, dribbling the whiskey onto the sand.
He walked back toward the sea; still holding onto the bottle. Close enough now that the waves began to lap gently against his feet. "Further still..." He murmured, taking another few steps until he was ankle deep. How far could he go, he wondered. What if he kept walking and didn't stop? What then?