Work Text:
The sunset is always beautiful, but never the same twice. The myriad of color seems to envelop you, pulling you into it's last bits of warmth as the moon begins her reign over the night.
Her.
The person sitting on the end of the dock lifts a bottle to their lips, allowing themselves to feel the chill of the glass as the liquid languidly slips down their throat. It settles heavy in their stomach. And here they'd been saying they'd never touch the stuff. Guess that was just another promise to add to the ever growing list of commitments they couldn't keep.
The sun continues it's descent, casting golden highlights over the short cresting waves that lap against the poles holding the dock above the surface, just so. Funny, they thought, kicking their legs a bit. If the poles were to give way, the dock would collapse with them on it. The water would engulf them. An astonishing switch from the warmth of the air to the frigid depths of the ocean.
They wouldn't stop the pull of the undertow if it so happened to be there. Not like they'd be able to do much about it anyway, when you tack on the considerable buzz overtaking their mind. Turns out they weren't like their father. Couldn't hold their liquor as well as he could.
Good, they think. Didn't want to be like him anyway.
They take note of the encroaching darkness that follows the dying sunlight, chasing it over the horizon. Again, the moon comes to mind. A brilliantly white goddess of the midnight hued sky.
Goddess.
She.
Her.
There was that word again. It grated on their mind, making their hand haphazardly bring the bottle up to take another drink. They sighed afterward, the drink not chasing away the thought but bringing more warmth to their fingertips.
They hated that word. They hated the other words associated with that word. A reminder of everything they had once been and never would be again. A reminder of what everyone saw when they looked at them. A girl. A young woman. A granddaughter. A niece. A--
"What are you doing?"
The voice caught them off guard, turning a bit too quickly to see the source and making their head spin.
A girl.
A little girl, standing their on the dock. Alone. Faded. Mirage-esque.
They sighed, turning back to the water and taking another swig before responding.
"Mourning."
"Mourning what?"
They twirled the bottle around a bit in their hand, washing the alcohol slosh around against the tinted glass.
"A lotta things. You. Me. The me that probably won't ever get to be."
There were no footsteps but they could tell the memory had come closer. They tensed. The proximity almost felt mocking.
"But I'm not dead."
"You are."
"But I'm right here."
A growl. "You're not real. You're just the drink talking. I'm talking to thin air right now."
"I didn't mean me."
"Then what did you mean, huh?"
"I'm you."
"No you aren't. You died a long time ago."
"But we're still alive, aren't we?"
"I am. You aren't."
"But I'm you."
A sudden spike shot up through them, and in a stumbling moment they were on their feet. Screaming.
"NO, YOU AREN'T!"
The memory was gone the instant the bottle crashed down on the dock. It shattered, spraying glass and alcohol over the weathered wood.
They were alone again.
But hadn't they been a moment ago?
Yes, of course.
They shuddered, noticing their surroundings again finally. The sun had set, leaving the world dark under the watchful eye of the moon high above. The chill had settled in, and not even the little they'd had of the drink could keep it out.
A sigh, and they headed home.
Alone.