G

The Tide came in this morning...

I'm writing this letter to you under the assumption that you weren't one of those who were swept away. Yeah, that black, poisonous liquid that surrounds our town? That's the Tide. Many have fallen victim to its ways, being taken in their sleep by its flow. How terrible, to lie down in comfort, unable to foresee your demise. We all live in fear of never waking up, even though we understand its inevitability.

An eel in the city said it best: "In my eyes, the Tide is death." It flows downstream from the road of the G man and it fills the baptismal vessel of the church. How strange that eelkind might try to control - to conquer - the Tide, as though it could ever be overcome. Me? I try to live apart from the Tide; it's not my place one way or the other.

I didn't see you this morning, which is why I started this letter in the way I did, but I'm still writing in the hopes that someone, if not you, will read it. In the end, all we have are words.