(no subject)
Who: Michael Corner
Where: Tenby, Pembrokeshire, West Wales
When: 25 May, 2001, right at sunset
Status: Complete
Sitting atop a low rock wall overlooking the busy tourist harbor at Tenby, Michael breathed in the salt air and admired the way the setting sun illuminated the rows of gaily-coloured buildings hugging the shoreline.
So very little had changed and it was still frighteningly easy to blend in amongst the summer holiday crowd; only now he could experience firsthand jockeying for a bit of precious elbow room at one of the many pubs in the resort town. A much-needed (and appreciated) escape from his troubles, Michael had spent most evenings in the company of one attractive lass or another, blissfully free of any polyjuice time restraints. Risky, he knew, but lately he'd come to the rather Calvinistic conclusion that if something untoward was going to happen to him there was little he could do about it right now.
In the week since his arrival, he'd learned his grandparent's cottage still stood, though now occupied by new owners after his grandmother had finally joined her husband up at St Mary's. He'd also learned that his father couldn't stomach the idea of keeping the summer house any longer and had sold it to the first couple with a hefty bank account that came along. Too many memories and no son in which to pass on the property.
It was better that way - to be living and considered dead than truly dead. At least when you were alive you could enjoy the world around you. Death was just an infinite stretch of nothingness.
The thought made him shudder as he flipped open the worn journal on his lap and began to write.
Where: Tenby, Pembrokeshire, West Wales
When: 25 May, 2001, right at sunset
Status: Complete
Sitting atop a low rock wall overlooking the busy tourist harbor at Tenby, Michael breathed in the salt air and admired the way the setting sun illuminated the rows of gaily-coloured buildings hugging the shoreline.
So very little had changed and it was still frighteningly easy to blend in amongst the summer holiday crowd; only now he could experience firsthand jockeying for a bit of precious elbow room at one of the many pubs in the resort town. A much-needed (and appreciated) escape from his troubles, Michael had spent most evenings in the company of one attractive lass or another, blissfully free of any polyjuice time restraints. Risky, he knew, but lately he'd come to the rather Calvinistic conclusion that if something untoward was going to happen to him there was little he could do about it right now.
In the week since his arrival, he'd learned his grandparent's cottage still stood, though now occupied by new owners after his grandmother had finally joined her husband up at St Mary's. He'd also learned that his father couldn't stomach the idea of keeping the summer house any longer and had sold it to the first couple with a hefty bank account that came along. Too many memories and no son in which to pass on the property.
It was better that way - to be living and considered dead than truly dead. At least when you were alive you could enjoy the world around you. Death was just an infinite stretch of nothingness.
The thought made him shudder as he flipped open the worn journal on his lap and began to write.