There was a ghost on a rock by the sea.
He sent my doom to me.
***
A ghost. A ghost will kill me.
***
Shirley Jackson once said that no live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality.
You can believe her, if you like.
***
It all began the day I met him.
He was a ghost I found while walking the seaside. He sat there among the rocks, looking towards the horizon where the sun was setting.
I should have run then, but I did not. After all, I could just be dreaming and might wake up soon.
But I did not.
I stopped walking, and he turned to look at me. He smiled, then stood, then he vanished.
I saw him again the next afternoon. I strode towards the rocks. This time, I spoke.
"Why are you here?" I asked.
He did not turn to look at me. He kept his gaze towards the setting sun.
"Because you are here, Cassandra."
His voice was barely above a whisper.
"How do you know me?"
"I always did. You may not know it just yet, but you will."
One moment he was there, the next, he was gone.
I sat on the rocks until the sun's last rays sank on the horizon. On occasions like these, I see the truthfulness in a watercolor painting. The colors of the sky could be so beautifully rendered in watercolor. I tried once, and I was proud of it even though I wasn't good. Still, nothing can ever replace the soft hues of the sky at sundown. Maybe I should paint the sea next. I like how peaceful it looks this afternoon. It's very pretty too, it's as if it was really colored in soft golden hues. But it was not, and will never be.
I like it better when it's dark and grey and stormy.
***
Houses by the sea are supposed to be pretty. I guess they are. I live in one. This house sits in a promontory that overlooks the sea. From below, it may look unsightly, because the rocky shelf protrudes far into the sea, waves crashing to it constantly, like a piece that never quite broke off evenly. The waters below it are quite deep. The house that sits on it, on the other hand, looks grand and imposing. From my readings, it was supposed to be Georgian in style. I think it is. Symmetrical, five windows in the front, two stories with an attic. It's not as colorful though, because it is made of grey stone. Grey looks pretty on stormy seas only. I would've preferred to have the house painted red, but they said this was built to outlast any storm, and I should be grateful. My only consolation, perhaps, is that it is surrounded by varying shades of green, except in winter.
I have a little garden, but there's not much growing in it. Only a little part has been cleared, and any further is a stiff dive from a cliff. The previous owners seem to know a lot about flowers, because they planted those that could endure winds and salty spray, so the garden is filled with verbenas, daylilies, lavender, hydrangeas, and juniper bushes. Morning breezes always smell sweet because of them.
