Love thrown away
*Inspired by a film*


I met her every day at the beach.

We never arranged a meeting beforehand, sent each other excited messages in anticipation, or met at the same time every day.
I just knew she would be there, always facing out to the sapphire waves. In all the times we met, I would find her in the same stance. She would be stood as described as the ocean came into view as I reached the summit of a dune, silhouetted against the glare of the sun off the water; one hand planted against her slender waist.

She would give no indication she knew I was approaching, but never started or displayed any surprise as I wrapped my arms around her from behind.
She would sigh pleasurably and nuzzle her head of spiralling black curls against my neck and reach around to cup my buttocks.
Speech wasn't necessary beyond small grunts and moans of acknowledgement. She would turn and almost bury her teeth into my shoulder with a strength and vehemence belying her small stature, drawing blood on occasion but causing euphoria instead of pain.
We would lay down in the sand, her small breasts against my chest as we made love, occasionally arching her back as she rode me, for extra friction against her clitoris. Our orgasm was always simultaneous.

Afterwards, she would dance to a rhythm inaudible to our ears, but which thundered through our hearts and loins. Primal and passionate, it was truly what a philosopher once called the vertical embodiment of a horizontal desire. I always became fixated with the small tattoo of a butterfly on her left hip which seemed to flutter, most alluringly, as she dipped and swayed. Afterwards, as she lay exhausted in the almost vermillion sand, I would lay a tender hand upon her head and say, 'I must go. I shall see you soon'.
She would look up into my eyes, her own a mischevious, sparkling emerald and say, 'Until then'.

Until today.

'I must go. I shall see you soon'.
She rammed her hands against her ears in a most alarming and painful-looking fashion and screamed.
'No! No! Don't go! Don't leave me!'
This carried on for what seemed like an enternity, until I came to my senses and wrestled her arms from her ears.
'I must, Sweet. I must go'.
She screamed again and beat my chest with her fists. Her sheer fury made the punches hurt, but as the flurry continued they became less substantial; even ethereal.

To my horror, I noticed my love had become almost transluscent, her pounding fists sinking into my chest uselessly. I looked up, and caught one last glimpse of her terror-stricken face as she vanished before my eyes. I screwed my eyes shut and howled primal grief at the impervious sky.

I heard a voice.

I opened my eyes to an unfamiliar room.
A face, not known to me, hazy at first, then with gradual clarity, swam into view. A doctor.
'Mr Bradley?'
I nodded.
'You were in a car accident. A collison with a truck. You've been in a coma for 2 weeks.'
I swallowed, with difficulty.
'Lou...Louise?'
'I'm sorry sir,' said the kindly voice, the Herald of Death, 'She passed away just before you awoke...'
( Boss Keloid Got your mother's maiden name tattooed on my arm, Wed 20 Aug 2008, 22:30, 6 replies, latest was 16 years ago)

Well done
Nicely written, I quite enjoyed reading that.

If I have a constructive criticism to make, it'd be the juxtaposition or similarity between the woman on the beach and the person who's death your character has just been told of.

Are they the same person, or was the woman on the beach a fantasy figure and her disappearance merely a metaphor? If the latter, then your character would be feeling both grief and guilt if that makes sense.

The physical description of the woman on the beach and the accident reminds me of a book I read recently - Random Acts of Heroic Love. But that's not a criticism! Keep at it.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Wed 20 Aug 2008, 22:40, Reply)

@PJM
Thanks for that.
The woman on the beach is supposed to be his lover who has been killed, but I'm very happy for her to be taken as a fantasy if that's how it may be interpreted. It may add an extra dimension I hadn't intended.
I haven't read the book you mentioned, but if anyone has seen the (fairly obscure, Japanese) movie, they should recognise this straight away, as it struck me and moved me to write this pretty much straight away.
( Boss Keloid Got your mother's maiden name tattooed on my arm, Wed 20 Aug 2008, 22:55, Reply)

its got a sting
bad bast@rd you nearly made me cry and i'm all man. Although bit of a fooked up one at the moment.
(Discreditor wants the dream to come true, Thu 21 Aug 2008, 0:07, Reply)

Very well written
And randomly I have a car that's painted in Vermilion.
( TGB checking Off Topic is still shit at, Thu 21 Aug 2008, 9:39, Reply)

That was lovely : )
You big soppy git!
( girlinthehole, Thu 21 Aug 2008, 10:04, Reply)

Nice and well written.
My interpretation was that the woman in the dream was actually the driver of the other vehicle in the crash who was also in a coma. They had never met before the crash which is why she seemed so mysterious.
( mistaspakkaman and the inedible shifting caterpillars, Thu 21 Aug 2008, 12:16, Reply)