Sin by Shaun Allan

distance away and peered at me gloating. "Ha!
Got you!"
    My anger switched up a notch. I
realised my fists and my teeth were battling it out to see which
could clench the tightest. The gull continued to mock me with its
gaze, telling me what a sorry excuse for a suicide victim I was. A
breeze picked up a few grains of sand and tossed them casually in
my face. I could feel them scratching my eyes and working their way
into my mouth. The sea seemed to surge around my ankles. I felt it
wet my crotch and spray my fists as it joined in with the ridicule.
The breeze became a wind that ruffled my hair the way a patronising
uncle might his nephew.
    I cried out then. Whether it was
in anger, frustration or desperation I'm not sure. Probably it was
all three mashed together like emotional bubble and squeak - except
I had bubbled, but this was no squeak.
    "AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
    My throat was sore. My breath
was gone. My anger had vanished. I felt empty. Lifeless. Dead.
    That word again.
    I shut my mouth and opened my
eyes, not realising I'd closed them. The gull had gone, no doubt
scared off by my shout. The sea had gone too, though obviously not
frightened by me - I was no King Canute. I looked back to see the
tide sweeping towards me, a stampede of angry looked white froth.
If you don't think froth can look angry, maybe you'd like to kiss a
pissed off Rottweiler. This froth was ticked off and it wanted a
piece of me. Not wanting to become any wetter than I already was I
ran backwards a few feet further onto the sand. The water crashed
into a dip where I'd been standing, splashing me as if to say "I'll
get you some way."
    I wiped the salty water from my
face wondering at the sudden tide. Had the waltz become a tango?
Were the sea and the moon having a brief lover's spat?
    I turned once more to face the
land, stepping backwards slightly as I moved. I felt something
crunch under my heel and looked down.
    A wing, or rather the remains of
one.
    I crouched for a better look,
not really wanting to but not being able to help myself. The crunch
had been the small piece of bone still attached to the tattered and
bloody section of feathers. Small pieces of gore were slimed across
the wing, sand sticking to them like icing sugar sprinkled on a
cake.
    I vomited. Twice. The first was
at the sight of the shredded wing. The second was either because of
the smell of the first, or because the wing was now covered in my
own puke, making the scene, somehow, more horrific.
    Spitting a few times to clear my
mouth, I stood again. Without looking back, I started to walk away.
Without thinking about the what or the why, and certainly not the
how, I walked away. I was sorry for the gull, but I didn't
genuflect or say a prayer. I didn't look around for the remainder
of the remains, if there were any. The thought of a burial, even
one as simple as kicking sand over the wing, didn't enter my
head.
    I walked away and whistled a
happy tune. Tra-la-la. No. I didn't. I just walked. I didn't look
at my surroundings, sing a song, or even think. I just walked.
     
    * * * *
     

Chapter Three
    Sometime after, I don't know how
long or how far, I stopped and vomited again. As my breakfast that
morning had been the usual two slices of toast, undercooked eggs
and tepid coffee (they know how to look after you in that mental
home), my previous efforts at throwing up had relieved me of the
contents of my stomach. Dry retching was about all I could manage,
but my body had a good attempt at more.
    I'd left the beach behind a
while ago, not noticing as the sand gave way to rough brush, which
in turn transformed into grass. At some point the grass had met up
with a road, maybe for a few drinks and a pizza, and I'd
automatically turned along it, my feet taking me along their own
path without actually letting the rest of me know. Perhaps they
fancied pizza as well. Pepperoni, probably. Or maybe a meat feast.
Just no tomato on the base please. I hate tomato.
    I walked in a