The good ship Rosalind goes down under the light of familiar stars. I remember cold black noise. I remember sand beneath my palms. I was saved. The lights of my town just down the coast. The beach fires dry, the woman cry, and here I am the sole survivor of this awful shadowed night. I am alive. Under a full moon, above these webs, a string of sparks, the smell of death, turn me away towards the woods, away from my wife, my home, my life. Towards the ghosts. In the woods it was too dark to hear anything.
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