The orange/red glow across the lake soothed her. She walked along the sandy beach in bare feet. Waves lapped onto the shore and climbed up the sand to her bare toes.
The woman seemed lost and frail. In her left hand hung a pair of flip flops. Her hair blew in tangles and across her face only to be brushed away with her right hand. I saw her from my seat under the aged tree near the end of the beach. She was coming closer, passed a pile of driftwood set as seats around a makeshift stone campfire ring.
She slowed her pace now, staring off into a now blood red sunset. She was a stone's throw away and as she pushed her hair from her face again I caught sight of her expression and my eyes locked on her face. In her expression I felt such despair and heartache my own heart clenched in rebellion.
I was taken by surprise by my own reaction to her obvious pain and isolation. I felt an affinity and revulsion at the same time, but I was drawn to her. It was as though she had a beakon on her heart.
I got up from my hiding place and walked towards her.
Trying not to frighten her I called to her, "Hello, I'm Jason, it's one of the most beautiful sunsets I've witnessed in 10 years on this beach."
times up.
This was a piece of fiction.
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