The Sailor's Wife

She sits upon the shore, forever staring over the roaring surf and out to sea.
She waits for one who will not return. Her husband, a sailor lost to the sea, long dead.
I've forgotten how many years now I've watched her waiting, staring, her face transformed
over time from a melancholic gaze to a blank, expecting stare. A particularly large wave
breaks over the rocks, splashing her with a spray of cold salt water. Her face retains its
eternal expression; she doesn't even blink. For the thousandth time I try approach her.
And for the thousandth time I am unable to do so. I do not want to see her perfect face
marred with sorrow, for the news I carry would indeed bring a tear to her face.
For the thousandth time I sigh, an inaudible exhalation of fear and cowardice.

But no, not this time. This time, I walk to her. She looks up, her face unchanged.
I begin to speak, then stop. I hesitate, stuttering over the words. But then I speak;
"My lady, I am sorry to say, but your husband, he is dead. Lost at sea, decades ago,
along with his ship and his crew."

Her expression slowly changes; anger, sadness, then, at last, acceptance.
She speaks. Her voice is lovely, so much like the sea breeze.
"I thank you, kind sir. I can, at last, move on, now that I know he waits for me."
Her form shimmers, first becoming translucent, then fading away entirely.
I sigh once more, for the last time, an exhalation not of fear and cowardice, but of relief.
My vision begins to blur. For the final time, I stare over the roaring surf and out to sea.
I see my reflection in the surf begin to fade.

"Wait for me, Cap'n. I delivered your message. I'll be along shortly."