Salt

The next day, I did my typical shift at The Shell Shack. I looked up at the clock hanging by the same old rusty nail it had been relying on since opening night. I had ten minutes left, so I spent it cleaning tables and clearing the floor. Elusive fries and condiment granules were all over the place, awaiting to be swept up and abandoned in the wind.

I snuck a glance outside, folding down the blinds. It was still chaotic, the rain smothering and destroying everything in its path, coating it in its moisture while leaving us in the cold.

I’d twisted my hair up into a messy bun before I started, but the tendrils had since fallen over my face and neck, teasing me again.

Once it struck three, I quickly dust binned my gatherings and headed for the staff room. I hadn’t left it unattended like last time though, Ramsey had agreed to put in overtime. I gave them a small salute as I disappeared through the door.

Maureen was already in there, making herself a blueberry and apple tea. She blew on the hot steam that begged for just a singular kiss.

“Is that the time already, dear? Well, I hope you have a good day. Try not to let the weather dampen it.”

I hung up my apron and zipped up my parka.

“Was that a joke?”

"Maybe a little.” She smiled softly, moments before she took a large sip. As I was leaving, she made a sound that caused me to turn back. I refrained from pressing my lips together. “I heard about Zoey, I’m sorry. I know you’ve been through a lot lately, and I wanted to check in and see if you actually want to work. I won’t be offended if you say you’d rather stay at home right now.”

I pocketed my hands further, wringing out the water that would undoubtedly lead to nowhere. It trickled, like a stray tear I was dying to deny.

While my boss’s features displayed no shame, or disdain, I couldn’t stop the swollen feeling that rose somewhere in my gut. Some things never changed around here, whether it was political views, or unforgiving bias. I just knew that grin on her wrinkled face wasn’t experienced enough in the rollercoaster that was my life to be so sure.

I was still moored, unable to catch my breath, no matter if there was support or not.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” I thrust out as I got out of there. I didn’t think I could stomach another minute.

Emerging into the falling skies, it was no remedy for the lava that rippled out onto the surface. I was coated in no time at all, but they never hushed the voices, the whispers, the blood that pounded in my head. The molten was going, and it would never stop, until this palace of mine became nothing more than just a palace of bones.

Bones that moved me forward, but ricket nonetheless. The water spilled, and it spoiled, yet I stayed as strong as iron. It didn’t slow me down.

The streets were empty, the vehicles refused to light their spark. I was dashing, I was quick, almost a match for the acid that stung my cheeks.

I had to use a lot of my upper body strength to push open the substantial and dense double-doors. They swung open with an unbuttered creak, ringing loud and clearly for all ears that pricked to listen. They screamed for sanctuary, to plea all these peaceful bodies remain unperturbed.

The stained glass cast moons of screaming and flooded color, glistening differently as the rain pelt down, aching to ruin some more. To wash the sin away themselves, back into the sea and thus creating a cycle so disgustingly vicious it frequently went unnoticed.

The urgency that had vibrated in me previously dwindled, undying but yielding. I kept my attention trained on Jesus as he idly reigned, offering his hand to whoever wished to take it.

Dancing with religion was a dangerous game. I wasn’t a faithful follower, but if he happened to provide me some brand new moves, I’d forever be grateful.

The church was silent, save for the muted appeals sitting in the pews, beads rolling over their fingers as they bowed their heads low.

I came to the front, halting just before the candles. Only a few of them were lit, billowing lightly in the gentle breeze. Yet, the closer I edged in, they didn’t warm me. They were just like everything else.

Shadows bounced and daylight cowered, but I refused to let it stir me.

I raised my head, looking Jesus in the eye. His mystical eyes were calm, earnest and wanting but withdrawn. He wasn’t asking for much, or anything at all, but still, I waited patiently for the green light of forgiveness.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” I breathed out heavily, knowing my face was creasing the longer I stared. “I have no words for you. I guess that’s all I have. Stupid,” I rolled my eyes, as I went to turn on my heel when I had the sixth sense that I suddenly wasn’t alone.

Too right, as a beige shirt appeared by my left shoulder. The gold star that was studded right into the breast sought to blind me.

"You’re the opposite of stupid, young lady. In fact, I used to wonder why you never used your sharp intellect in the force, but hey,” Mason grinned, taking off his hat and holding it close to his chest. “In light of recent events, it would have made your assailant stupid for believing they could cross you.”

I sighed.

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“I never said that was why I’m here.”

I shuffled slightly, to catch Mason lighting the stick on an active flame. It licked and encompassed easily, but only briefly before he moved it to a virginal candle. He wafted the wood in the air until the smoke fizzled out, the scent contaminating my senses in protest.

I could choke on it, it would be effortless. I could inhale the fumes and pass, and let it pass.

“Who are you lighting one for?”

He looked down at me, grin wavering only slightly, as he held out the burned rod.

“You.”

Holy water itself couldn’t quell the sins I made up in my head.

“Not that you need it,” He tilted his head, eyes roaming over all the others. They were as hard as ever, unreadable, not the best for me. “I’ve known you, for what? Fifteen years, give or take? No matter what, if some insignificant girl labelled you a freak and spread harmful rumors, that optimism could never be vanquished. I remember you telling your folks about it and I couldn’t help but overhear and I asked if you required my help. You shook your head and faced me squarely in the eye, grinned that fantastic smile and said ‘no thanks, trash always takes itself out’. That’s when I knew.”

Alarmingly, I sniggered, but there was no amusement to be on him. Just genuine emotion. For a little girl he once babysat, now a fully grown woman seeking validation.

I was about to make some kind of witty remark, when he beat me to it.

“Strong women don’t need anyone to protect or comfort them. They’re their own heroes.”

Biting down on my lip, I contained myself from throwing my arms around his neck. To hold him near and claim gratitude, I wanted to.

However, this wasn’t the time for that. Instead, I took a deep breath and grabbed the charred twig.

Hovering it above the one he gave life, mine delicately began. The flames formed around the wood, like bubbles rising to the surface. The smoke puffed and danced, ready to be the start of something either beautiful or so beautifully destructive. I supported either one of them.

My wick caught on immediately, darkening and melting. Wax dripped like the condensation on a cold glass, until they stopped. When I did.

Holding back as I blew the stick out, I faced Mason again.

“I am.”