If you would have asked a me a year ago if I believed in love at first sight, happily ever afters, or whether I thought Emilia and I would stay together forever, I would have said absolutely, on all accounts; and if you’d asked me if I believed in trolls, curses, or water demons, well, I would have laughed.
But then a phone call changed everything; Emilia paced the kitchen—hot bowls of oatmeal, white cups of steaming black coffee, the washed-out January sun thrown against the wall—as she chewed her cerise nails with her eyes closed saying ‘I understand…I’ll be there… já… já…’ before falling silent with a tear in her eye.
She refused to talk about the call, but kept apologising, and saying how she will always love me; and as I sat on black sands of Vik beach that afternoon I watched Emilia motionless in red, the sea like an untamed beast—dragging gulls under—and knew then that everything I trusted in love, in life, in dreams had been a lie.
Written for Three Line Tales, Week 93. Vik is a small village in Iceland that has a black sand beach.
Image credit: Alex Iby via Unsplash.