a migraine

He had spent the previous night reading law. Now it was midday, and he was suffering from a migraine. The tide was high and the beach where usually children and dogs play had disappeared. Water lapped against the stone wall and occasionally sprayed his cheek, wet his hair. The dog- that same bloodhound- ran to and fro though never far, circling back to our writer every so often. It was a weekday, and the other benches overlooking the harbour were unoccupied.

He was thinking that he really must sort out his prescription, the strength of which he was sure caused his migraines, when a sudden but quiet voice came over the monotonous echo of the sea.

“Do you know how I can get to the other side?”

“Pardon?” he said, somewhat abruptly and agitatedly.

When he turned it was to the most perplexing and beautiful face. A girl, only nineteen or twenty, with full cheeks and eyes that glimmered, smiled at him as sometimes his wife had before.

“I…I…” he stammered, a pain suddenly shooting through his head, as if punishment for that moment of clarity.

He turned his eyes to the ground under his feet, not wanting to indicate to her that he was suffering. After a moment the pain subsided. But when he looked up, she was already climbing the limestone.

He sighed. She sighed. They were both lonely.