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Day One
A dove soared through the open blue sky, as Charis tumbled down a rocky hill. The jagged rocks were tough on his sandals. Sunbeams glared down on his back and neck, and ferns scratched his legs, but from here the sandy beach was just up ahead. He sighed, greeting the ocean’s presence with fondness and running towards Her. Kicking off his sandals and digging his feet in the hot sand returned him to feeling alive again. It was a little ritual he performed every few days: make a trip to the beach, pray, swim, and head home at sunset.
Charis collapsed at the shore, laughing and touching his fingertips to the cool foam that brushed up against him. He held a fistful of sand, relishing the warmth of the tiny god in between his fingers. “You’ve never failed me, Amphitrite,” he laughed, filled with joy. “You are the neverending constant in my life. Your waves dance, slow and gentle, to some unheard song. It brings me such peace.”
He laid on his back, letting the sun’s brightness close his eyes. And in the pricks of warmth on his skin and caressing his back, he found another tiny god. “Helios,” he spoke to the sun, “I wish one day to find a human, who loves me as much as you do. I wish to find you in their love. And for it to surround me like it does now. The sand in my hair, the sun on my face, and the wind blowing my tunic— it is love itself, caressing me gently as long as I shall stay here. Thank you,” Charis sighed dreamily, basking in the light.
He slipped off his tunic and opened his arms out to the wind, allowing it to freely touch him. Charis took a moment to sway and run his hands over his body, softly humming. The wind roared as his voice grew louder and calmed as it quieted, in sync with Charis. The sea pushed a large wave over his ankles, trying to pull him into the sea. He obliged its wishes and stepped into cool wet sand, water up to his thighs. With the receding of the tide, he was pulled and caressed like the sea was giving him a friendly hug. Charis hissed at the biting cold and plunged his head underwater. His hair floated in front of his eyes and at last he felt at home, drifting with the tide, becoming one with it. There was nothing but the purest blue and the sunlight shining through it.
He swam until the water began to darken as the sun set. There was a chill up his body, stepping out of the sea and being accompanied with cold air hitting his skin. He shook out his hair and redressed himself. The cloth clung to his wet body, and he tried airing it out as a seashell washed up on the shore. “Thank you,” Charis took the beautiful shell and admired its ridges and hues.
He trudged home, shell in hand, wet, cold, and tired. There was a small area on a flat piece of land that he had dedicated to sculpture making. The terracotta sculptures ranged from beginner level to advanced, and he danced around them, careful not to bump into them. All of the faces were uncanny and unproportioned. He ached, thinking how skilled he could become if he had someone to pose for him.
Over the hill, his small plain farm could be seen with fruit trees and animals in the confines of a stone fence. Cows mooed and chickens clucked, greeting his return. “Hey, Penelope, girl! How are you?” Charis scratched under one of his cows’ chins. She rested her head in his hand.
“Honey, I’m home,” he opened his door and sighed– no response. He struggled to pull off his wet clothes, and tossed them in a corner with his sandals. His house was quaint and empty, walls built up by mud and barely any furniture. He lit the hearth and washed his hands and face before preparing to make an offering. He set the seashell on Aphrodite's altar. On a long wooden board on the floor, his altars were displayed. Each one had a candle and a bowl of water and a special item. For Apollo, a single honey candy. For Hestia, a piece of bread. And for Aphrodite, the seashell. “Aphrodite, Anadyomene, I do not have much. Only this shell and my devotion to give you. I hope it is enough for you to hear my wishes for a girl or boy who loves me as much as I love you. This house is as lonesome as it is warm.”
Charis took a deep breath and wrapped himself in a blanket, laying down on his hay-filled mattress. His stomach rumbled, but his heart was too heavy to move. He squeezed his eyes shut and wished a lover laid next to him, combing their fingers through his hair and pressing their chest against his back. He turned over and grunted, frustrated with his solitude. A tear rolled down his cheek. “I had a wonderful day today. Goodnight,” he said to no one.
Day Two
Charis woke up feeling particularly grumpy, even more frustrated there was no witness to his pain. His farm animals kept him somewhat grounded– it was nice to have someone, or some creature, needing him. It was the perfect day to return to his passion of sculpting. It kept him distracted for a while, even if he didn’t like the result.
He kept quiet in the city, admiring the people strolling past him. They never paid him any mind, or smiled at him. The sound of laughter and talking healed and warmed his aching soul. He wondered if one day he would be one of the many people wandering town with a family to call their own.
Charis took some bread from a food stall and munched on it, on his way to buy a mound of terracotta. He handed a large sum of currency to the woman at the shop. “Can I have all of it?” he winced.
She blinked and nodded, “You might need a cart.”
Charis clapped his hands together and shrugged. “I would be grateful.”
“That’s another drachma,” she gave him a wide-eyed stare.
He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay,” he handed her the coin. “Thank you.”
Charis wheeled his mound of terracotta all the way back to the beach. His legs and back ached, the sun blared on his skin, and sweat dripped down his thighs. He collapsed in the hot sand and took a deep breath in.
He grunted, lugging the clay out of the cart and plopping it on a large flat rock. Taking a deep breath, he dug his palm into the clay, working his hands against it. Shaping and shaping the clay into anything but what he wanted. He kept stretching and pulling and running his fingers against the clay, and was hopeless. The seemingly unending sea stood still and blank, reminding him of how there is no one in sight. He’s clouded with fog and unimpeded loneliness. Charis kicked the mound with his foot and let out a frustrated sigh.
He kicked off his sandals and walked to the shore. “Hello,” he sat and ran his hand in the water. “It never gets old, sitting here. Every time is as invigorating as the last… I would build a home here, if my farm animals weren’t dependent on me. And I on them…
“I would be a fisherman, but I can never seem to keep a strong grip on the fish once I catch them,” he laughs and rubs his chin. “I wonder if this is it for me. Museless. And if the sea will be my only lover, until death,” the thought brought tears to his eyes, and a pinching sensation in his stomach. “Everyday is the same. With me as the only witness.”
Charis wiped his teary eyes dry and let a shuddering breath escape his chest. He disposed of his clothes and floated in the sea on his back. He ached, “I don’t care where you take me.” The waves slowed. “Please?” He was pushed back to shore.
He pressed his lips together and nodded, diving once again back into the sea. He pulled his legs close, curling up into a ball, and screamed, letting the water muffle his pain. All the air left his lungs and his tears mixed with the sea, until he ended up inhaling some saltwater and choking on it. He coughed and sobbed through the panic and longing, treading water. He found it comforting that his tears and the sea tasted the same.
A shadow came over the beach, and the sun shone through the space where two clouds barely touched. The only sunlit area for miles seemed to be right where Charis was swimming. He squinted, glaring up at the sky, as water swirled and pushed around his legs in random motions. The water foamed and hardened in his hands, interlocking with his fingers. Charis was not alarmed– he was only instilled with calmness and intrigue, as he swayed back to shore and a woman arose from the seafoam. The clouds cleared and she smiled.
Charis’ mouth was agape and eyes filled with wonder, staring up at her beauty. “Anadyomene,” he said, breathless and delighted, “The whole earth is in your eyes.” He stood at a distance, “My name is Charis.”
“You called out to me, young one. I know your name, Charis,” she held out her hand.
Charis gulped, “Right.” He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips, leaving a gentle kiss. A birthmark formed on her hand. Her skin had the same softness of a shy wave brushing against the shore. He pried his eyes off her and searched the beach for an offering. A small seashell rested on the coastline. He rushed to grab it, and crouched to pick it up, only for it to be pulled away by the tide. He grimaced and spotted another one that washed up a few feet ahead of him. As he reached for it, it also washed away before making contact with it. Charis looked back to make sure she was still there. She watched him curiously and he gave her a nervous smile. He waddled towards the next shell and his hands pounced towards it, but all he retrieved was a fistful of sand. Anadyomene giggled at him. “I’ll find you a shell, just wait,” Charis sat and tried his best not to pout. Between his outstretched legs, a beautiful large white shell appeared from the sea. He glanced back at her, and then carefully picked up the seashell. “Thank you,” he stood and returned to Anadyomene.
Charis gently pressed the shell into her hand, “For you.”
She rested a gentle hand on his cheek and he melted into her palm. “I’m grateful,” she said softly, as the waves calmed.
“I’m going to sculpt you,” he squinted through the brightness of the day.
Ana bit back a smile, and turned away. She shook her head and laughed, “Charis… How do I pose?”
“However you’d like, my beauty,” he ran his hand over her arm.
And so, Charis spent the rest of his evening, crafting and molding clay with his hands. Running his fingers along divots and dipping them to create shadows. His hands smoothed over her clay hips and shoulders, shaping them to match Ana’s. Charis would often dance his fingers along Ana’s back, arms, and body, to feel out how to replicate it. She was troubled in keeping her face straight, and unflushed, with Charis’ touching her so tenderly. Charis was far too focused to tease her for it.
“You’re the most beautiful, Anadyomene,” he said nonchalantly, eyes focused on carving out her facial features. “If I were to sculpt anyone else, Moúsa, their stone cold skin would be immune to the warmth of my hands.”
As the sun set, Charis felt a chill up his spine and shivered. The sculpture was half finished and Ana was swimming in the sea, tired from holding the pose.
“Come to my home. I have a farm, and…” he realized how little he had to his name. “I don’t have much to offer you except myself. I have no extravagant feasts to celebrate your arrival. I am only my hands and my heart.”
“I shall love those then,” she clasped her hands around Charis’. “It’s what I am here to do.”
Charis’ mind and heart froze, bewitched and lovestruck. The sensation of affection was missed and nearly long forgotten. Tears rose to his eyes and through a trembling voice he said, “I swear I will love you for as long as you let me.”
She brushed some hair out of his face and interlocked their fingers, “I will let you.” She followed him up the hill and towards his home, almost floating over the terrain, gracefully stepping, and giggling at how Charis was fumbling and tripping.
Atop the hill, Anadyomene eyed the many sculptures scattered about the land. Charis worried, flapping his arms in her view, and making a horrible attempt to hide his work. “It’s not my best work,” he excused, glancing nervously at the disproportionate faces and bodies. “I had no reference to base their bodies off.”
“Your hands made these, Charis. They’re yours and they’re beautiful,” she explained, gently touching her finger to the nose of one of the statues.
Charis blushed and fumbled out a noise that vaguely sounded like a “thank you,” and guided her through a grassy trail to his home. “Forgive me, Ana, I haven’t much in my domain, but a soft bed and a warm hearth.”
“You assume I want anything more than you?” She asked curiously, eyes steady on him.
Charis was taken aback, “Why wouldn’t you?”
Ana furrowed her brow, “What more could the sea need than a witness to her being?”
The two lovers fell asleep in tangled up limbs, skin to skin, with only whispers and kisses between them. Charis’s face was in Ana’s hair, and their fingers interlocked. The fire from the hearth crackled and burned, as if the two needed warmth that did not come from one another. Charis was full, head to toe— he had never felt this alive, safe, and loved at once. This was the way it was going to be from now on. His lonesome and grief pulled away like the tide of a shore.
Day Three
Charis awoke to the songbirds and the chill of a breeze. He stretched and reached out to empty air, freezing. His hands scattered about the bedding, panicked at the lack of his lover. He dressed quickly, slipping on his sandals, and sprinted towards the beach. Sand kicked up behind him and he panted with his hands on his knees. Ana was wading in the water, long hair floating around her. The sun shone on her scalp and her hair glimmered in the light.
“Ana!” he called out, “Why did you leave me?”
“I felt sickly. You forget this is my home, Charis,” she stared at where the water met the skyline, unable to turn her head. It was a simple fact that no matter where she goes, she will always return to the sea.
Charis softened and he walked ankle-deep into the water, wet sand and rocks at his feet, “Your limitations mean nothing to me! I will build a home out of mud and clay right here, so I can be with you always.” He said this before he had considered the implications. His farm animals would starve without him there. He cannot harbor a farm on the beach. And how would he live without his income? He held an immense embarrassment and remorse in his chest.
“Your feelings outweigh your sense of logic and self-respect.” Ana turned to face him, a melancholy look in her eyes. A bittersweet longing that kept her at distance from him. The waves slowed, and she spoke. “I am not an ‘always,’ Charis. I am not your fossil. Tell me, is it possible to love a single wave?”
Charis’ shoulders dropped, and his stomach ached. “I already do.”
She shook her head, “Leave me now.” Ana ducked her head underwater and disappeared from the waterline. Charis could still see her floating underneath the surface.
He looked at his feet, firm in the sand, “No.”
Ana spun around, face tinged with anger, “No?”
“How can I know you will not disappear if you aren’t in my sight? I will not abandon you. I am loyal. Do not abandon me,” Charis’ face was hot and his throat tight. He was praying to every God and Goddess that he could fix this. “Come home with me. Stay with me.”
“How could you ask me to fight my nature? It will surely kill me. That is not true love. It’s not about what you are or are not, but if my purpose is to be loved by you, so be it.” she snapped. “You do not even trust me.” Clouds above darkened and rumbled, as raindrops began showering the beach. The rain peppered the sand with dark spots and soaked Charis’ hair and tunic.
Charis’ stomach dropped, “Do you love me?”
“Regret was all I had felt this morning,” Ana tilted her head down and watched, mesmerized as raindrops fell into the water.
“Regret because you do not love me or regret because you will leave me?”
She paused, “I would like to become water again now.”
Charis stripped off his clothes and stepped into the cool water, swimming towards Ana. “May I become water with you?”
Ana shot him a playful glance and giggled at the absurdity of his question, “Oh, Charis. You must be joking.”
“I am serious, Ana. Why would you laugh?” He held her in the water and rested his chin against her neck.
“You are made from stardust. I am made from the heavens,” she interlocked their fingers. A gentle ache entered the hearts of both of them.
They waded in the water together, quiet and close, letting the waves carry them. The sun peeked through the clouds, though rain was still pitter pattering against their heads just above the waterline. “Don’t worry,” Charis whispered, “You will be loved as long as the heavens exist.”
He grinned, returning to his statue as she returned to her posing. “One day, I will sculpt you in dazzling white marble and every townsperson will be witness to your beauty,” Charis waved his hands dramatically, entranced in his own fantasy. “For now, my love, I can only afford terracotta to build you with.” He kicked a rock on the beach.
“Oh, quit it. Your hands are what make the sculptures valuable, my dear,” she shyly proclaimed. She paused and sighed, “Tell me a story, my love.”
“A story? Oh, I can do that, I think,” he muttered. He carved out the shape of Ana’s neck and began a tale, “Imagine a city, with a bright blue sky above and shops lined in the town center below. Mothers rock their babies and fathers carry their children on their shoulders. Kids are playing, skipping, laughing… Old women sit on a bench, feeding the birds. And when the day is done, they return to their homes and sleep in their beds, happy. And repeat. When a bright summer morning, a raven flies over the town square, all the people stop for a single moment and stare. For a brief second, terror pricks the back of their necks and settles in each person who hears the warning’s croak. A rising anticipation and dread tightens their throats. The raven circles the sky and the townspeople avert their gaze. And every one of them carries on with their day. What else was there to do? They silently ignore their fear, falling asleep at night. An unspoken fact, a widely-known secret.
“When, as it will, disaster strikes. A family’s stomach drops, as the tide recedes far, far away, stripping the shore bare. The mother and father scoop their kids up in their arms, and run, screaming, terrified. ‘The sea has turned on us,’ they yell. ‘She’s coming,’ they scream, as a wall of water rises high behind them. The people of this city hear this warning, again. They see the water rising as they gather in the town center. And they watch, silently accepting their fate. They let Her take them away. Their chance to run was far too long ago— they loved their homes too much to leave.
“They look up in wonder at the highest wall of water they’ve ever seen, fascinated and horrified. All at once, it crashes over them, taking them and their children. Siblings hold onto each other and mothers watch their infants float out of reach. Water rushes through their homes and past buildings, crashing against wagons and shops. Crops get carried away, pushed to some far off place.
“Historians in many years will find this abandoned ghost town, where buildings have crumbled and human bones have been chewed up and spit out, washed up on the shore. And they will wonder why the townspeople hadn’t run.
“The end, I suppose,” Charis gave Ana a gentle smile.
Ana frowned, “But why hadn’t they run? Aren’t the historians valid in wondering that?”
Charis shrugged, “Keeping the joy they already had seemed easier than uprooting their lives to find it somewhere else. The fear of change inevitably froze them into doom.”
“Oh, I see,” Ana dropped her pose. She wandered back to the shore and stared at it.
“Ana?”
She pressed her lips together and turned her head away from him. “How could you tell me a story like that? My intention is not to bring harm.”
“I know,” Charis carved his thumb into the terracotta, shaping Ana’s cheekbone. He smoothed the statue’s nose with his finger and carved out her under eyes. As he pulled away, he observed the face he had sculpted. Ana’s beauty had been captured in her sweet smile, aquiline nose, and deep set eyes. Her hair sat in beautiful curls on her head. Charis stared into those blank eyes and sighed, a lump rising in his throat. A wave of emotion crashed in his chest and his eyes welled up with tears. He clutched at his chest and fell to his knees, tumbling into the sand. Ana shrieked and came to his side to aid him.
“My dear, Charis, are you alright?” Ana brushed her hair back and held Charis steady.
“I’ve realized my fate, dear Ana. You’ll surely kill me,” Charis stared into the sand, tears streaming down his face. “And I will allow it.”
Ana gazed at him with striking concern. “I will not,” she protested.
Grief-stricken Charis sat up and made eye contact with his dear lover, “I’m sure I will never love again after you.”
She let out a breath of disbelief, eyes welling up with tears. “Doesn’t that scare you?”
“It terrifies me,” he stated. “And I don’t care.
Clouds passed and the tide ebbed and flowed. Charis sighed of exhaustion, and flopped down on his back in the sand.
“Could I sleep on the shore with you?” He closed his eyes and listened to the wind brush through the grass and over the sea. The air became sweeter and colder as the sun set.
Ana gripped his hand, “Oh, Charis… When will you ever miss me if we’re always together?”
Tears immediately pricked at Charis’ eyes. “You are the scared one, my love.”
“I’m not,” his voice was low and shaky.
“Don’t you think fear is synonymous with love? I’ll still be here in the morning. I’ll still love you the same,” Ana ran her fingers through his hair.
Charis shakes his head, “I don’t want to ever part with you. Not if you’ll leave me one day.”
Ana sighed, “I deserve privacy even if I am temporary, Charis.”
“I’m a fool for you, Ana. That will never change,” Charis closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. “I’ll come back in the morning.”
Day Four
Ana, sleeping on the shore, water rushing underneath her like a cool, sweet lullaby, was glorious as ever with the sun shining on her soft face. Charis stared a moment, standing sure in his love. He wanted to sculpt her, laying just like that.
“Moúsa, darling, I’ve returned,” his eyes shone golden in the sunlight and her eyes fluttered open.
Her lips gently parted, in awe of him. He was aureate in her eyes– the golden treasure found at the depths of the sea. “You returned,” she said, breathless. She took him in her arms and rested her face in the crook of his neck, running her hands over his back.
“Look, I bought a honey candy for you,” Charis pressed a candy into her hand. Ana hesitated. “It’ll be alright, take it,” he assured.
Ana had the words knocked out of her, and took the candy. She gazed down at him, as though he had handed her the whole world. Her lips kissed his palm, with Charis’ fingertips under her chin.
“What’s all this for?” Charis softly laughed and tilted his head.
Ana hesitated, and shook her head. Her hair floated around her as if it were in water. “Thank you,” was all she could sincerely say. “You’re the sand to my shore, Charis.”
“It’s a candy, Ana,” he brushed a piece of hair behind her ear. “I’ll buy you all the candies in the world. I love you.”
She turned her head back to the shore, and smiled politely.
Charis’ hands shook slightly, as she pulled away. Anticipatory grief anchored in his stomach. It passed him by like a slight whisper against his ear. Death. “I love you,” he whispered again.
If she heard it, she didn’t acknowledge it. Charis sighed, under his breath, “I’ll wait for you.”
She popped the candy in her mouth and hummed happily. “It’s sweet like you,” she hid a shy smile.
Charis so desperately wanted to hold her like water in his hands. To wrap her up in a bundle and hold her to his chest. Light reflected off of her stomach and thighs and breasts— his heart swooned. He reached out his hand. A raven flew over head, and his hand stilled. He ached.
Ana expectantly looked at him. A daring glint in her eye. “You are scared.”
“Of course, I am.”
“I’m sorry,” she shyly admitted.
Charis wanted to adamantly shake his head, and say there was no need to be sorry. But he thought about how soon Ana would have to leave him and the steady dread that came with the thought. Ana shamefully waited for a response, a slight frown pulling at her lips. Her face said everything she was thinking— begging for Charis to not wait for her, to have him let down easy, as a lamb slaughtered in pretty white bedding. There was nothing she could do. Power was in the hands of the ocean, to take her away, stealing Charis’ heart along with her. Charis gulped, a rock sliding down his throat. “I’ll forgive you,” he said. As if to say, “I come willingly.” A gentle surrender to love that tells her he would bear the weight of a thousand universes of pain to lessen hers.
The waves rumbled at the shore and the sky clouded, as if it had only needed permission all this time. Charis was still, frozen in place, only solemnly staring into Ana’s ocean eyes, capturing every detail of her. Her eyelashes and her lips and nose were created to be burned into Charis’ memory. The rest of her existence to be spent as water, traveling far and wide, into the clouds and into the cracks of rocks. Charis was merely a time capsule of her beauty, grace, and the divine glory she carried in her shoulders.
He planted his feet firmly in the hot sand in front of the sculpture of Ana. Her curves and folds were perfectly captured, her nose and lips carved— Charis stared back into her eyes. It gave him the same familiar warm feeling of Ana, despite only being a sculpture. He held her face with his hand. “It’s you, Ana. I think I’ve finished.” He imagined himself sitting on the beach soon, staring at his still, unmoving lover that would never receive his affection again. A replacement felt too bleak and sour of a word in Charis’ mind.
Charis peaked his head around the statue, and searched for Ana. She was crouched over in the sand with her hands in the water. She turned her head back and stood, walking over to Charis with her hands out and a large grin. She placed a sand dollar in his hands.
Charis sweetly smiled, “Thank you, my darling.” He placed it in the open hand of Ana’s sculpture.
“Oh, Charis,” she melted, “It’s gorgeous, thank you. You’re a wonderful sculptor.” She gripped Charis’ hand and held it to her cheek. When she turned her face to give his palm a kiss, Charis felt his knees buckle. His heart sparked and his stomach flipped.
“You’re welcome, Ana,” he grinned. She clung to him, arms thrown around his waist and face buried in his neck.
He shivered and his face went hot. He hugged her very gently.
The Night
The sun set on the two laying on the shore. Sea foam lapped at their feet, as the air chilled and the light from the sky was chased away. Bright stars were popping up, as Ana hummed and Charis’ cheek was in the sand, looking over at her. His fingers danced atop her hand and carressed it gently.
The air went still. Their surroundings went silent except for the gentle lapping of waves. Ana froze. Please. Please, don’t let it be this soon, Charis thought.
Ana’s hand gripped Charis’ tightly, and deep in his heart he knew it was over. She rolled over and gave him a faint kiss, one that spoke a story of care and devastation. Tears rose to Charis’ eyes.
The water at their feet receded, and Ana stood. Charis sat up on his knees. Clinging to her legs. As the tide got further and further away from them, revealing sea shells in the sand and between the rocks.
“Ana,” Charis looked up at her, pleading. “I can’t be alone again.”
Ana could barely look at him. Her face was blank and empty. “We both knew our fate, from the beginning.”
“I could change it—“
“No,” she said sternly. “Do not mess with the Gods’ wishes.”
“I promise I will never love again, Anadyomene. Never another. Only you, Daughter of Apostrophia, Lady Aphrodite,” Charis’ hands grip the backs of her thighs.
The sky thundered and struck down a bolt of light. A wall of water formed behind them. Ana stayed firmly in the sand.
“An oath?” She chuckled in disbelief, “Why would you do this yourself, Charis? Why?” Her words had a bite to them.
Charis gulped in fear at the water rushing towards them, “Because I love you.”
Ana placed her hand in Charis’ curly hair, gripping it lightly between her fingers. She was fighting off the lump rising in her throat. Her heart burned. “I love you too,” she said softly.
Charis pressed a kiss to the top of her thigh and held on tightly.
A wave taller than Ana crashed into them both like concrete. The air left Charis’ lungs and he scrambled for a hold on Ana. Pitch black water flooded the beach. His head breached the surface and he coughed out water from his lungs, desperately looking around for Ana. “Ana!”
Through the turmoil, Charis grabbed her waist. As he spun her around to face him, he could see her hair was straight and wet through bouts of waves crashing over them. Her face was shiny and serene, but her expression was empty like a doll. “Ana?” In his hands, her smooth skin dissolved and melted away into sea foam and water. He cried out for her, grief sinking in his stomach. As he thrashed around in the water searching for her, he struggled to stay above the surface, choking and coughing. In the distance, there was a head bobbing in the water. He panicked and swam in that direction, calling out her name. When he clung onto her, her skin felt unfamiliar and cold. And he realized— this was not Ana. Her terracotta skin, his hard work, melded and collapsed under his hands in the water. The waves pulled the sculpture away from him. “No! Wait— Please,” he stretched his arms out to reach it but it drifted further off. The statue sank lower and lower, and disappeared under the water.
Charis surrendered and took a deep breath, floating on the surface of the sea, “Drown me, darling,” he shut his eyes, holding his arms out to the side. He exhaled, and let his body sink like a falling feather. A sense of peace filled him, head to toe, and he let the sea hold him and take him away.
Day Five
A breeze brushed his skin, and his sandy eyelashes fluttered open. He sat up abruptly and coughed out buckets of water. The sea was still. He sobbed, scanning the empty beach. For her.
He could barely carry himself home— but he missed home so much.
It was lonely in his home. And eerily quiet. Charis munched on some bread, sitting near his altars on the floor. His body ached— he felt far too tired to do any praying. His eyes were red and his hands were shaking from crying.
Day One Hundred
An oath is an oath not to be broken. There was a bouquet of picked wildflowers sitting on Chairs' table. For himself. His altars were covered in sweet treats, bread and flowers. His bed was still empty. His sculptures were growing vines in his yard. There was a large pile of chunky terracotta on a slab that appears to have been shaped and molded dozens of times. Charis tried every day to remake his sculpture. To rebuild his lover. And every carving felt odd and looked unnatural. Her face was askew and uncanny. He didn’t like looking at it.
His grief too, was ugly. It was a swirling muck in his chest that morphed a frown on his face everyday. A terrible potion which made the world dull and grey. Sparks of color returned in the small things. The glistening of the waves at the beach, the plant growing in the crack of a rock, and the yellow wildflowers that catch his eye. Occasionally, a white dove would fly over head, and leave him in peace for a few moments. He enjoyed imagining it was her. But he knows truthfully, she is long gone. Maybe pieces of her in the bubbles of seafoam could be held in his palms. Or perhaps particles of the water he wades in, gives kisses to his legs and torso. A white seashell washes up on the shore sometimes, but Charis always catches them before they drift away. He stopped collecting them because of how many he’s found, and piled up in his home.
He’s fearful of how his life may end. How he shall recover from this seemingly never ending grief. And often wonders why. Why he made those promises, why he loved so deeply. Why would such a beautiful part of this world hold him so dearly? All he was is a child born of the stars. Charis wasn’t an extraordinary person. And yet, he was loved. Even if only briefly, Charis held that love close to his heart. It glowed in his chest, warmly. And with this came a bitter-sweetness, an aching mix of release and joy with grief and longing— truly, he would never love again.