Those secret seafoam places that drip and

part in lovers' waves,

that's where she broke the bones.

The pelicans dance in midnight oils

to kiss the burn away,

And swells roll in their shade.

Hidden in-between cracks where tongue

meets haunted oblivion,

her spell is burnt in another's lips.

And when Poseidon calls to him that

nymph of gilded steel,

she melts away in clouds of cosmic

Slips and shards of coloured silk.

She is mine,

And in her there is a destiny encased

In eternal cloud and flame. It glints

heavy against the pane

Of tiny glass that holds us close together.

Et ainsi, le moqueur chante.

My name is Harry - well, that’s not my real name but you’ll understand later why I must remain anonymous. I’ve spent 52 years on this planet, always considering myself the average Joe until I picked up the book, Lolita, from the library shelves and became intoxicated by its contents. “...that little girl with her seaside limbs and ardent tongue haunted me ever since –until at last, twenty-four years later, I broke her spell by incarnating her in another.”

As I read the passages, I felt warmth coursing through my body and found it necessary to sit down, crossing my legs to hide my budding growth. I was embarrassed by my welling desire as I panned through the book but also titillated by the realization that I, too, was one of the select five percent who experienced the same feelings.

As I ventured further into the book, I felt the commonalities that the author and I had shared.  As a very young lad, I had lost my mother to cancer and had to make my way through life without her nurturing influence. When I was 19, I watched a little girl at the playground and imagined us together, lying in silken sheets with her prepubescent body touching mine. Her breasts were not yet blossoming but her lithe legs held such promise as I observed her swinging by her knees from the jungle gym, exposing her virgin white cotton underpants. I fantasized that she was embryonic, just waiting for me to introduce her to the delights she had not yet experienced. But, alas, it was not to be, as her mother walked over and told her it was time to leave. Although I went to the same playground many times, I never saw her again, much to my dismay.

Although I never completely excised my fantasy, I was able to live a fairly normal life for many years until I was in my late forties. I had never married but I had had numerous girlfriends, mostly ones who were youthful and almost childlike with small breasts and straight bodies. One day, I met a new woman who had a 12 year old daughter, full of innocence and unable to recognize the stirring she aroused in me as I looked at her legs with a little peach fuzz outlining their shape. I imagined her little suckling rosebud mouth caressing my manhood as I taught her how to please me and at the same time, introduce her to the beginning of womanhood. Thinking she was the main attraction, her unsuspecting mother  moved in with me bringing her young daughter. I began to assume a doting father figure to the child, holding her on my lap, stroking her arms and rubbing my mustache on the back of her neck, causing her to dissolve in paroxysms of giggles. I rubbed lotion on her legs and dried her with fluffy towels after her bath. Knowing she was needy, I played to the gaping void in her life. She was my goddess and I was the one who could fulfill her every desire.

One spring day, I arrived home early to find my little innocent cherub sitting in the kitchen eating graham crackers in her t-shirt and panties. I hugged her and kissed her on the mouth, lingering there as I parted her lips and inserted my wet tongue. She appeared surprised but I told her I was just glad to see her. I picked her up and placed her on my lap, holding her as my fingers played with the lace at the edge of her underwear. Her eyes shut in passion, at least that’s what I thought, and she began moaning as I explored deeper into her little flower. This is what Daddies do to little girls I told her. You’ll learn how to please your husband when you are older. I scooped her up in my arms and carried her gently to the bedroom. Slowly, I began slipping her blouse and then her panties off as the tip of my tongue flicked her skin.

I undid my belt buckle and began ripping my clothes off to consummate my urgency. All of a sudden, I heard a blood-curdling scream. There stood my little nymph’s mother at the bedroom door with a look of complete horror on her face.

This is not the end of my story. Pardon me, for a moment, while I use the toilet in my cell. I really do not like the design of the combined toilet and sink because my grey shirt keeps getting wet and I don’t have a spare. I am the pariah of the cell block, at the receiving end of the other prisoners’ ministrations, over and over again until it becomes difficult to walk. I don’t think it’s really my fault. I was cursed by a biologically related condition; a psychological disorder, if you will, according to my psychiatrist. I am left-handed which possibly indicates that disturbed hemispheric brain lateralization may play a role in my deviant attractions.

They consider me a pedophile but I prefer to think that they are biased against me. Unfortunately, I am confined for an indefinite period of time where I am forced to remain without my little sprite who brought me so much joy. But what I continue to wonder is did I cause the effect or did the effect of her beauty cause my neurosis?

She slithered into my head unnoticed,

seemingly through cracks and creases

left abandoned, forgotten works of

ancient builders. The clever Devils left

me exposed to this wanted intrusion.

I loved her little body, bendy and fair

and menacing in its sensual posture.

Time twisted and snuck past my defenses,

when I finally noticed, it stood sneering

in the distance, taunting my failed perception.

She had me buried deep within her plans,

drowned to the bottom but sinking still,

further into a collage of the failed wills

of all the others. They too fell victim to the

same cryptic grinding hips and serpent speech.

Down beneath the bottom of everything

I see the cracks and creases of her grimaced heart,

freedom may be possible, but not like this

for I too am toxic and spewing evil intent

laced with lust. We will sift the innocent forever.

Twenty five years I've eaten her fruit, tasted

of her nourishing decay. Life flourishes when

roots reach down to death. But she has nothing

left to offer, she has fed all the fruit she can.

Find another. Maybe this one will last forever.

Dig the garden, six feet down.

You'll find it's full of love.

I watch the smoke trails dissipate

as I exhale yet another cigarette.

Alone, I perch myself on the toilet.

Three am, eyes wide.

Silence the patronising voices in my head,

I cannot.

Stuck, here now,

in this moment.

Chastising existence,

Notably myself.

I allowed him my body.

He’s not the first,

won’t be the last.

In a whirlwind of lust

he took control,

hard,

fast,

spent,

goodbye.

The ferocity excited me,

directing my every movement,

heating me from the inside out,

forceful movements allowed me to lose myself,

unrelenting pleasure found.

Once, twice, a third time he rose me to the zenith,

each time I sunk deeper within the rippling clouds of ecstasy.

For the briefest of moments, I was worthy of his attentions.

For the briefest of moments, I felt loved.

For the briefest of moments, I did dream.

Why now, after this moment of bliss,

am I perched on the toilet

to pee out

him,

his taste,

his smell,

his experience?

Urgency to wipe him away,

and flush this moment

overrides all senses.

I cannot allow that tiny scene to take refuge in my heart.

Our relations - he and I,

from the outset,

were never meant to amount to

anything more than

just another passing moment. 

Can you hear my pulse?

The water in my veins has turned to fog

sat steaming on your midnight lake.

I pray to God that you are real

and pray again that you are not.

Your sin is rosy cheeks and butterfly kisses.

My sin is you

were never mine to keep.

Can you hear my pulse?

Because I cannot,

though I feel it thundering beneath my skin

as I watch your lashes fold over ocean eyes.

Is the torrent in your eyes or in my soul?

You ask for candies and breezes,

and daisy chains on summer days.

Ask instead that the waves still.

My dear, we will drown.

Your laughter is unfair.

I suit myself in envy and sit quiet.

I am still sitting here.

I have been sitting here for ages,

watching you run with your arms spread

like you might just catch the wind

and fly far, far away.

I want to slow your movements

so I can pull at your wings

and fasten you to the wall

with the pin of my lapel.

Your sin is bright eyes and smiles with crooked teeth.

My sin is you

look so much like her.

that little girl

who lived on the beach

loved life

encompassing everything

that little girl

knew not of poverty

of real-life villains

or heart-breaks of Mommy

that little girl

believed she’s a mermaid

would grow up a teacher

to help people HER way

that little girl

thought sad was sickness

anger, a cartoon emotion

she could only bare witness

that little girl

has haunted me ever since

twenty-four years later

I am that little girl again

having realized where she went

inside me, where she was sent

in pain communicated by men

because she was but only seven

devastated by their want of power

twenty-four years later

at two months shy of thirty

it has become very clear to see

the source of what is separating

that little girl from the haunted me-

and that’s been me listening to society

twenty-four years later

that little girl has come to light

to realize there’s one true left or right

as only oriented by an individual’s own sight

and so that little girl is reborn, into an adult life

-M.E.

201601290831

(inspired by the offered phrase, but I didn’t use it because the instructions weren’t that specific and I thought creative freedom was encouraged so, I ran with it. Thank you for the challenge!)

Brian sat near the surf, waves caressing his feet, finally tasting the tears of his ruined day. His torn jeans revealed a mangled knee that stung his soul more than pained his body. There was no room in his life for damaged jeans. His mother worked three jobs to still not make ends meet. She would hurt to see him beat up again. But, it would be the look in her tired eyes when she saw the ruin, irreplaceable jeans. Knowing that look would greet him tonight crushed him. He sobbed.

“Why do you cry, little boy?”

Brian whipped his head to the direction of the query, startled. A pale, lithe girl stood there with a wistful smile on her lips and seaweed tangled in her long, dark hair. She was easily a foot shorter than him.

Who was she calling little? he thought a bit angrily. “It has been a long day, little girl,” Brian replied through a choked sob that was laced with wary annoyance.

The girl giggled mirthfully. He watched her toes claw into the wet sand and felt she found the act both alien and wonderful. “Little boy makes jests. Markie always enjoys the clever boys. This day is no longer than the last day, little boy. So again, why do you cry?” She mocked, yet she seemed to care deeply.

Looking into her inviting seafoam eyes, filled with more secrets of the world than his seventeen years knew, Brian responded more kindly, “My heart hurts, more than my broken knee. I dread going home, and...I tire of the...daily torments.”

The girl, Markie, tilted her head and took him in deeply with her gentle eyes. Brian felt unnerved by it. She flowed to him and kissed his tear-covered cheek.

“You taste like the sea, little boy. Perhaps you are her missing wave? You should not waste your sacred tears though, for they hold such memories...”

Her speech was so strange, Brian thought as he watched her break off some of her seaweed and wrapped it around his wounded knee. It stung almost to a curse, yet in a few moments, the sting and deeper pains were gone. She removed the weeds to reveal a knee, healed. Pale, wavy scars the only sign any harm occurred.

“There,” Markie said, quite satisfied with herself, tracing fingertips over Brian’s new scars, “Much better, yes? Now the other desires require a kiss to fix. Can I take a kiss, little boy?”

Brian, a mess of emotions, looked into her inviting eyes and gave her a silent nod. Markie gently held his head and kissed him. She tasted like the sea. He saw a vastness of mysteries within her eyes, a depth that didn’t match her petite frame...

She broke the kiss in sudden, almost innocent glee. “There! Those fixed as well. Fare Well! Little boy! Fare Well! Missing Wave!” She broke away across the beach and dove into the sea, and never surfaced. He felt better in almost all ways, save one. A piece of his heart was missing. Markie was the thief.

~~~

“Markie!”

Nothing again. A month passed since Brian last saw her. He visited the beach everyday since. He sat near the surf watching the sun starting to set.

“Why do you call my name, little boy? Why on this Moon’s night, Missing Wave?”

Excited, he turned to see her there, pale skin glowed contrasting the sunset. Her tangled hair and seaweed was pulled back tonight. Her small breast were held by two, large starfish, almost mocking a bikini top. A belt of pearls and gold adorned her tiny waist. She wore nothing else. She was lovely and more mature than her frame mimicked. His soul knew that clearly now.

“How did you do it, Markie? How did you...make them leave me alone? How…”

Markie put two fingers to his lips, the touch tender, yet stirring. “I did not do wrongly, did I, little boy? I fixed the hurts in your heart, did I not, Missing Wave?”

“Yes, but…”

“Then why does it matter how, little boy?” She smiled wicked, yet childlike. It drew him closer. She watched him with curiosity, “Do you have another desire, little boy? Can I take another kiss, Missing Wave?” She looked deep in his eyes until she found his heart’s desire. She then pulled herself away in a flourish and laughed. It tore at Brian’s pounding heart.

“Oh, little boy. I cannot give you that, for you are not my missing wave. But, I can give you something that you may like just as much.”

Brian under her spell, still yearned to kiss her at least once more. He yearned to taste the sea off her soft lips again. He gave a nod.

She flowed to him in a wave, and drowned him with her kiss. It was bliss. It was asphyxiating. She broke it just as suddenly.

“There little boy. Not quite your desire, but something similar. Can you be patient, Missing Wave?”

Brian nodded. Markie kissed him once more. It was tender and sweet. It tasted of wistful longing and forgotten goodbyes.

“Oh, little boy. Do not call my name again until your face is bearded as a man’s. Oh, Missing Wave, do not seek me out again, until your voice forgets the little boy you are.”

Markie turned and skipped away across the beach and dove into the sea, disappearing underneath. His heart beat like a fiery drum while his skin fevered in a way that would now allure.

~~~

Brian sat at the beach running his fingers through his beard, trying to remember the last time he stood here.

Nine years ago?

His other hand fiddled with the engagement ring he has been unable to give to his current lover. He finally realized why yesterday. A memory of a girl that had given and taken so much. Markie.

Brian found the courage to call her name, compelled to see her one last time. To say thanks, goodbye and perhaps kiss her as a man. “Markie…”

Nothing. He sat there letting the waves lap at his bare feet, remembering her, until the rising full moon shimmered its reflection in the waving sea.

“Why do you tremble so, Missing Wave! The evening is so warm, soooo inviting.”

Brian stood, turned to see her. A woman faced him. Her skin glowed a paler green than he remembered. Her midnight hair pooled down to her waist. Her breasts, swollen, heavy globes of the softest flesh. Her legs went on forever, revealing and concealing her sex at the same time. Her smile framed with plump lips. Her eyes glowed lilac. He realized then, they were not Markie’s gentle and seafoam eyes. They invited, but consumed as an ocean consumes. With no care of obstacles in its way.

“Where is Markie?” was all he could ask, feeling foolish doing so.

“Why does it matter, Missing Wave? She found you for me, that is the only matter.”

“But...I wanted…”

The woman strolled closer, looking deeper into his eyes, drowning him with vast mysteries and fluid desire.

“I see Markie’s last gift was made too strongly, Missing Wave.” The woman said as she plucked the ring from his hand. Before Brian could protest, she kissed him fully.

He drowned, tasting a part of the ocean he could never have imagined, but slowly remembered. The fever that continued to burn his flesh, cooled, then boiled. He could feel this woman completely, could feel how much they both wanted; could feel how her wave perfectly countered his; just as his feelings for his would-be fiancee slowly faded away.

With crushed will, Brian breathlessly broke off the kiss, “You never asked to take it. I never gave it freely.”

The woman laughed, causing him to want to devour her more. “Oh, my sweet, Missing Wave. I never need to ask for what is part of me, just like you never need to ask for what is part of you. You are my Missing Wave. Markie told you as much, yes? You wanted her too, but you were not HER missing wave.” She tossed the ring in the sand.

Brian’s memories of his life kept seeping away, just as he slowly started to remember this woman that he never met before.

“I don’t know your name...I don’t...remember it…”

She kissed him again, until he finally forgot his own name. She wrapped her legs around him and he carried her into the ocean. Beneath the drowning waves she lead him to the place her first kiss promised.

~~~

Markie watched them melt away into the sea as she picked up the ring left in the sand, looping it into her belt of pearls and gold. She yearned to find her missing wave. She noticed a human walking the beach, oblivious to her presence, too preoccupied in his pain.

“Why do you cry, little boy?” she asked suddenly, with a wistful smile.

...that little girl with her seaside limbs

and ardent tongue

haunted me ever since

–

until at last,

twenty-four years later,

I broke her spell

by incarnating her in another.”

-

(Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov)

& She Like a Mother

Introduced me To Heather

a Runner

of Back Alleys & Clip Joints

All Dark Eyes & Gin Soaked Thighs

I Let Her Lead me Down That Hall

& Many More

In Love With the Waste That Became my Life

The Knife

& Impossible Heists

Were the Dreams I Would Cling To

As the Sodden Sheets

Muffled Our Screams

Mad Dogs

Who Bite

Burning Way

To Bright

Mesmerized

By

the Light

Would we

Find

Death

To Night

#B27321

CAST (in order of appearance):

NARRATOR

GUY

HENRY

MR. COOPER

THIEF

MRS. WILLIAMS

NARRATOR: Guy Hamilton, once an and coming police detective, has been thrown off the force by crooked cops, but this could not quench is believe in the immutable word of the law. Now he offers justice for those the law has forgotten in his quest to restore integrity to the force and expose those who would disgrace the badge. These are the adventures of Guy Hamilton: Private Eye.

(SFX: DRAMATIC MUSICAL INTERLUDE)

GUY: (Narrating) When I was first thrown off the force, it stung. Heck, it still stung, but I hit the ground running like a rabbit out of a fox hole. Sure we had a few bumps in the road, but we got a few odd jobs and people got to talkin’. The more people talked, the busier I got. Yeah, business had been good to us lately. So good I decided to hire an assistant. Inside a week, he was already cocky, overconfident, and running around like he owned the place. Sometimes I’d peg him at 20, then five minutes later it was like he was 12. I liked him immediately.

(SFX: DOOR CHEEKING)

HENRY: Hey, Chief, what we got cookin’ today?

GUY: Henry, how many times do –

HENRY: Yeah, yeah. You ain’t the Chief, but you are my chief so I’m gonna call ya Chief. So what do we have cookin’ already?

GUY: It looks like we’re all caught up with our current cases. Why don’t you head down to the Post Office and check the mail. And be snappy about it.

HENRY: Already ahead of ya, Chief. Here you go.

GUY: Henry, I –

HENRY: Fine, Boss then. You fine with Boss?

GUY: These are already open. You went through our mail already?

HENRY: Yup, sure did. Needed somethin’ to do on my walk back uptown.

GUY: And I suppose you have a case all picked out then?

HENRY: Funny you should ask. Come on and get your coat, Boss, the case ain’t gonna solve itself.

GUY: (Narrating) He was a good kid. His heart was in the right place even if his head often wasn’t. The case the kid had picked out wasn’t the one I would have gone for first. I’d probably have skipped it all together. It just wasn’t my cup of joe. But Henry was excited and I was about to do nothing to dampen that. The letter was one of the fancy flowing kinds where in two pages he had asked us to come see him. I wasn’t too upset. It was a fine afternoon or a drive. When we arrived, Mr. Cooper had tea in porcelain cups waiting for us in his sitting room.

MR. COOPER: Thank you for coming gentlemen. I had assumed my letter would have reached you yesterday. I suppose there is no accounting for the post office.

GUY: This is very nice and all, but let’s get to it.

MR. COOPER: (Chuckling) Ah, a man of action. I suppose I should expect nothing less from the famous Guy Hamilton. Very well. There is going to be a break in at 1042 West Fulton. The target is a child's stuffed bear. A ‘teddy bear’ if you will. I need you to foil this robbery and procure this toy before the perpetrator.

GUY: You seem to be misinformed. I am an investigator, not a thief and it seems you’ve already done the investigating.

MR. COOPER: An astute observation, Mr. Hamilton. I expect nothing less than the youngest detective in the history of Hiawatha County. I also expect him not to turn a blind eye to a crime about to be perpetrated.

GUY: If there is going to be a crime committed, go to the police. That’s how it works.

MR. COOPER: (Chuckling) Yes, but if I report it now, it will be buried in paperwork until tomorrow and handed of in the morning to interdepartmental mail and not reach the correct officer until that night, maybe even the following day. That is how it works, correct? Well, this crime is going to happen tonight. What I would like from you is to go and retrieve this bear.

GUY: Fine. I’ll ask some questions, but I cannot promise anything more.

MR. COOPER: (Chuckling) Why Mr. Hamilton, That is wall I ask and expect. All I ask and expect.

GUY: (Narrating) Mr. Cooper gave us the address and we were on our way. The old man made me feel like a penguin in a hot tub and didn’t want to spend anymore time around his as I had too. When I got to the house in question, it took some talking, but the parents let me hide out in their daughter’s closet. I made Henry wait downstairs with the folks and waited. I was about to give up the ghost when the window creaked open.

GUY: Alright. That is far enough.

THIEF: What? Who are you?

GUY: Guy Hamilton, Private Eye.

THIEF: A set up, huh? Why too back for you, Mack. I come prepared!

(SFX: TWO GUN SHOTS)

GUY: (Narrating) I must have been getting sloppy. I hadn’t expected him to come armed. Lucky for me, I had my large jacket on. He took a shot at my general shape. The bullet had merely grazed me. My jacket wasn’t so lucky. Nevertheless, I kept my own firearm close by. The would be thief wasn’t so lucky.

(SFX: RUNNING UP STAIRS)

HENRY: Boss! What happened?

MRS. WILLIAMS: Mr. Hamilton! What is going up -- (Gasp)

GUY: It’s alright, Mrs. Williams. Sorry about the mess. You had better call the authorities.

MRS. WILLIAMS: I… Yes. Yes, of course. Right away.

GUY: One last thing, before you go…

MRS. WILLIAMS: What is it?

GUY: The bear. May I take a look at it? I want to know what this is all about.

MRS. WILLIAMS: Yes, but of course. I’ll be downstairs.

HENRY: What do you think it is, Boss?

GUY: I don’t know but there’s something in this bear.

(SFX: RIPPING)

HENRY: Gee wiz! Is that an emerald?

GUY: It sure looks that way.

HENRY: Well I can see why he was after this! It is the size of my head!

GUY: (Chuckling) Well, maybe not that big, but it sure is a whooper.

GUY: (Narrating) It didn’t take long for the police to arrive. They tend to hurry when there’s a body waiting for them on the other end. I knew some of the officers. They harassed me pretty good, but in the end, Mrs. Williams corroborated my story of self defense and refused to press any charges. They told me not to leave town incase they had any questions, but I didn’t plan on it. It was time to pay Mr. Cooper a visit and get some answers.

MR. COOPER: Mr. Hamilton. You have returned.

GUY: I sure have and you had better start making sense of this all.

MR. COOPER: Yes, yes. In due time. The bear tell me you brought the bear. (Deep inhale) Ah, it is just as I imagined it.

GUY: Funny, I would have thought you’d want the thing inside. The cops have that now.

MR. COOPER: No, no. This is the real treasure. It still smells of my precious Clara.

HENRY: Clara? Clara Williams?

MR. COOPER: That little girl with her seaside limbs and ardent tongue haunted me ever since –until at last, twenty-four years later, I broke her spell by incarnating her in another.

HENRY: Hey, The Boss said to start making sense.

GUY: Oh, he’s making sense. It was the bear he was after. Come on Henry, we’re done here.

(SFX: CAR STARTING)

GUY: (Narrating) The car ride began in silence. In truth, I was worried about Henry. A case like this, well, it can shake a man; shake him at his core. There was a saying back on the force, gangs before kids. Anything with children in our line of work was always difficult. A man needed time to digest something like this. I just wondered how the kid would take it. I didn’t have to wait long for my answer.

HENRY: Boss…

GUY: Yeah, what is it?

HENRY: That was weird, right? It wasn’t just me, right?

GUY: Yeah, about as weird as snow in July.

HENRY: So what do we do now?

GUY: We head back to the office write up our report like always.

HENRY: No, I mean what’s gonna happen to Mr. Cooper?

GUY: Well, there is not much we can do. He hasn’t broken any laws.

HENRY: So, what? We just let him be free?

GUY: All we can do is let the police now what we found. They’ll watch him. Maybe even set up a sting operation.

HENRY: Sting operation? What’s that?

GUY: It’s where they give him some rope.

HENRY: Rope, Boss?

GUY: Yeah, rope and see if he’ll hang himself.

(SFX: DRAMATIC MUSICAL INTERLUDE)

It was in the summer of my fifteenth year, upon the broken coastline of Anglesey, sifting through a wade pool just a hand's breadth from the thunderous waves, that I met the dulcet Mirabelle. Her laughter carried on the strong wind, melodious and soft, a Siren's song to such a young lad as I.

Even then, before mine eyes ever set upon her fiery locks or that dazzling smile, I had already fallen hopelessly in love with the lass. It was upon the next moment that I realized this, and the tragic news this meant for me.

For I knew. . . I knew in the moment I caught sight of her, just rounding the bluff, chasing a small bird as it hopped from rock to rock, that my heart would forever belong to this strange creature of light and mischief. Her eyes shone bright with gaiety and delight as she scurried over the uneven stone. . . until she came upon me, staring in awe at the beauty of this wonder before me.

She gave me a small, uncertain smile -- unnerved, no doubt, by my blatant gawking -- and looked away, over her shoulder, toward the progressing sunset. The way the light of the waning sun set her copper hair ablaze, her slight profile provoking yearnings I'd only just discovered. . . by the gods, I wanted to paint her! I wanted to. . . touch her. . .

But most of all, I wanted her to touch me. I wanted to look down into those vibrant, hazel eyes and hold her close, knowing that she wanted me to keep her safe. This was the first time I had ever felt this. . . And I wanted more.

As she looked back toward me and the darkening waves as they crashed against the Isle, she studied me for a moment, very visibly made up her mind about something, and brazenly held out her hand for me to shake. "My name is Mirabelle, but my ma and pa just call me Miri. What's your name, stranger?"

I stumbled over myself, the words only half-formed and choking me as they slipped out of my clumsy mouth. "Glen -- ah, Glen Fergus." I cast about frantically, trying to find the words that should have been where there was now a void in my mind. Looking down, I noticed the seashells in my hand and proffered them to her. "I'm looking for the most beautiful ones for my collection. Would you like to join me?"

By nightfall, we were inseparable. And by summer's end, we were lovers. I'll never know what happened to the sweet, quiet thing that stole my heart that year. . .

I never saw her again, that little girl with her seaside limbs and ardent tongue. The memory of her has haunted me ever since -- until at last, twenty-four years later, I broke her spell by incarnating her in another.