I have a few at [link]

This is another one. Mind you, I don't write complete pieces, I usually just get a thought and put it out on 'paper.' I get many comments on adding more detail, such as background information, but tell you the truth, I don't want to. I rarely go back to a piece after editing it after, so most of them are pretty short.

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I sat on the fractured wood bench and looked out at the dazzling ocean before me. Something I was not used to, and would rather readily except it. There was no turning back, so I have to adjust to all of this.

No more deceit.

No more fakes.

Not anything.

Just me. Alone. Looking out at the-what seemed to be lustrous waters, I sat with my hands in my pocket bearing the chilled wind whipping around on this cool summers' hours of darkness.

If only I could go back. But its far too late.

And this would be my new life now. Starting fresh, something I ought to have done a long time ago.

Completely locked in to the reflection of the hunters moon lurking above my head, a thought comes to mind. Why is this so different from back home?

Physically I mean. Back home I always looked out to the same old murky waters, and saw nothing what I see be forth me. Granted it is the other side of the realm, but why a totally diverse moon, when we all lie under the same night sky?

The moon. A ginger color, so big and meticulous you could see ever engraved depression. Never before have I seen it like this. It was marvelous. Stunning. Simply intriguing.

Only the hush sound of the shore meeting the ocean. Such a hectic time of my life, all slowed down to this very moment, which I wish would never end. Never leave this lone position. Never again have to confront the faces of deceitfulness, abhorrence, and ridicule.

Now with all these surplus thoughts rushing to me, I think. Will I even last here? Where will and can I go next?

All I want is acceptance, and love.

I was taken from my thoughts by the vague reverberation of footsteps along the weathered worn boardwalk boards. With only a foretaste of the silhouette of the intruder, I swiftly grabbed my always-close-by messenger bag and quickly stood up. Working my way down the shabby steps on to the sand, I rushed away. I made my way to the shoreline, and plopped down and slipped off my shoes. Again standing up, I made my way to the jetty.

It was soggy and mossy, and draped with seaweed. Without a care I sat with my feet hanging of the end, with just the tips of my toes touching the ocean as the sound waves met the jetty I sat. I set my shoes down aside me, and reached into my worn messenger bag to draw my trusty music player.

Drawn away from thought again, minutes after I set my music to play, I was pulled right out again. The wind picked up a bit wrestling with the waters; causing it to crash into the jetty I sat on. Realizing this perhaps wasn't the best place to stay, I again rose and hopped off. Back on to the sand I headed back to the place I began, after foreseeing no ones presence.

I go back to the same splintered bench as I did before, but this time lie down. I stare up for a moment at the stars. This was nothing like back home. Back home almost every apartment had at least one light one shunning its way on to the still moving streets. The two to three, if not more streetlights on from late evening to the crack of dawn, drowning out the presence of that above. Sure, you could probably catch a star or two here or there, but this was beautiful. Every tiny beaming, luminosity placed perfectly on the dark velvet backdrop.

I lay serenely, and my eyes flutter close. I could have been lying there for five minutes of five hours, but this seemed so peaceful. Without any surrounding sounds, only that of the blasting tunes fashioned from my headphones.

I had gotten this peculiar feeling, the one where it feels as if someone is watching you.
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Cheers,
Mickey