The rocky shore succeeded in serving him the feeling of being grounded, to say the least. He breathed in hard, each effort to maintain the life of his wretched soul meaning more than unbearable. The night before had been tearful and insufferable. All people were born with choices. Yet, each time, he had wilfully submitted to the torture-inducing hardness of his alternate identity. He tightened his fist in deep contrition, repressing the fury of every single trace of dignity. What right has he, to even cause another soul to harbour compassion for his own repentance? Or even, for that matter, has he display any promising sign to change?
The sea waves roared deafeningly and he winced, involuntarily relaxing his firm grip. To his wonderment, the waters did not rush towards his direction, despite his closeness to the edge. He lifted his hand, now smeared with golden brown beach sand. The wistful gaze of his eyes affixed on his dirtied palm, he found himself falling towards the brink of breaking down once more. How much he wished to wallow in the bottomless pit of self-pity, his tears found no favour in the mercy of forgiveness. He failed, not only others around him, but his own true self. He clamoured for the recognition of ingenuity, but yet also gained favour for his incessant notoriety. Pressing his free hand onto the soft unfirm ground, self-hatred overwhelmed his senses. This eventful destiny of his had reached a crossroad fully-laden with signs of deadends. Facing the vast wide sun-setting horizon before him, resplendent glare resting on his stiffened face and broad shoulders, he bowed his head low. Mixed anguish and accursed burning guilt forced him to retreat further and further into the shadows of emptiness. The pure ocean breeze caressing his flowing fringes warmed and cooled his skin all the same. In a way, the contrasting sensation mirrored the conflicting options baring before his own intangible abyss of indecision. The deserted coast now only provided stillness in the midst of tempestuous storms raging fiercely in his path. From this day onwards, no one would be able to uncover his whereabouts. Leaving all he had ever laid hold of in his life up to this point in time, doubts which filled his clouded mind now scattered little by little gradually into the unseen realm of nothingness.
He sobbed, finally anew after some considerable hours since the day's dawning. Picking up an unwanted twig by his side, he found regained strength in his trembling arms to draw on the loose sands. A drop of tear fell to leave a darkened spot in the centre of his vision. His series of aimless thoughts caused him to instinctively trace out a quivery disconnected heart shape. In the ensuing moment, he would have cried his heart out, but he held back a fair share of it while sparing a slight degree of yearning instead.
The twig broke naturally under his over-powering self-inflicted pressure. He hurled himself backwards to slam his own burdened back against the unfeeling ground. He cried, at last, venting out the pent-up inner torment of gruelling self-reproach. Wiping streams of tears, he became aware of the only significant item under his possession this minute. A tiny thumb-sized bottle which was given to his care few days earlier, now lay just inches from his watery eyes. His moistened hand slowly reaching out towards it, he began to refuse casting it away. Grabbing hold of its smooth glassy surface, he beheld the beads of sand which had originally filled half the bottle, now diffused all over inside the minute amount of space. The reason being, himself, out of impulse, had filled it up with seawater. Perhaps, like the sand, he wished for so much that all troubles could be thoroughly dissolved and settled in the waters, vanishing into crystal-clear transparent saturation. Yet, what follows when the day is over, sparked flurries of uncertainty. He had confided his heart matters with her that evening, but will a consenting future be here to stay?