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The stories of two people, alone. They go through life separate, they go through life lonely, helpless. They have counselors, they have parents and friends, they have nothing, really. We see this in flashes, intermingled together but definitively separate. Their lives, until this point, last for fifteen seconds. Flashes of light. Flashes of memory. Flashes of space. Tears, words, and silence. They need each other, but they do not want to admit it. They do not know it.
A whale beaches itself on the shoreline of Scotland. They are standing at either ends of the beach. Silently. The whale is struggling. It is only them. There are two endings.
One; they move to help. Their footsteps like water, their imprints disappear as they walk down the beach, on the part of the sand the waves reach, the part of the sand that gives away their presence for only until the next wave rolls in, their sole and five, bare toes lost in the foam and the surf, as they wish they could be. The whale is quieter now. The wind blows their hair. The sun is setting, the orange and red and pink are igniting the sky in wild displays. They see one another. They are far away, still. They walk slowly toward one another, toward the whale, from up the beach and down. It is quiet, now. They walk closer. The waves move in, and out, in, and out. Their footprints disappear. The wind blows their hair, hers more than his, their clothes are wrinkled, their faces tired, their eyes bright. The whale is there, still breathing. Its tail moves now, softly lifting from the beach, in the air for a second and then down again. They move closer, now, staring at one another, still miles, it seems, apart. They are five feet from the whale, on either side. It is not a big whale. Maybe a beluga. Maybe a narwhale. Maybe a dolphin. It is a dolphin. A bottlenose. Its face is caught in a perpetual smile. It is dying. They know this. They move to either side of its body, placing their hands on its sides, feeling its skin beneath their fingers, its breath. It is much smoother than they had thought. They are staring at one another. They kneel beside the dolphin, now in the surf. The waves reach their shins and knees, drenching them, in and out, the sand moving beneath their weight. the dolphin is still. The wind blows their hair. Slowly, now, as the waves fall in and out they dip their cupped hands in the surf, trapping the transparent in the solid, taming the ceaseless motion by gathering it motionless between their fingertips. They bring their hands over the dolphin and open them, the water rushes down the slick sides and over the smile, breathing life again. They move like the waves, bring their hands down, cup them, gather the water and raise them, spilling it over the dolphin again and again. Down, up, release. Down, up, release. He is moving, now. The tide is coming in. the waves are closer, higher, faster. With each wave the body of the dolphin lifts momentarily, he could float out to sea, now. He could. The tide will get higher. Their legs are soaked. His jeans are heavy, her dress is light. The sun is more brilliant with every moment, the sky a bouquet they cannot sell, nor would anyone believe if painted onto a canvas with colors fluorescent. The waves are higher. They have not spoken. They still move their hands, down, cup the water, up, release, pouring over the back, the fins, the face. The wind blows, the waves sigh. This wave is bigger than the rest. It barges in, pressing their sides and moving the dolphin forward, now back. He is floating. He comes to life, moving backward, backward, out to sea. He is free, he is floating, he has been saved. He will see another day, will feel the ocean smooth against his body. They are standing, now. Facing one another. The dolphin has gone. It would not have died if they had not came. The tide came in, it would have escaped, soon, they suppose. They do not know. They face each other. The wind blows their hair. They are staring at one another, in silence. The light is fading, there are stars in the sky. She smiles, crookedly. His eyes crinkle. A small laugh escapes his nostrils, a breath exhaled shortly. She takes his hand, they turn. They stand facing the ocean, hands clasped. The wind blows their hair. The waves roll in, and out, in, and out.
Second ending: they stand, seeing the dolphin but not seeing one another. They cannot escape their sadness. They do not move, they do not speak. The waves move in, and out, in, and out. She will sit, perhaps, staring, a tear drifting down her cheek. He will stare down the beach, the wind blowing his hair. He will put his hands on his head, blow his breath out his mouth and turn, feet in the sand. He will walk back to his car, his footprints will last, this time, he will open the door and turn the key. There will be sand on his floorboard, the sun is setting fire to the sky. His taillights will disappear into the darkness, the dolphin still drifts, eventually, back out to sea. She will sit, staring, for hours. She will cry, but she will not know why. He will return to his party, seeing his friends, laughing but not caring, feeling nothing. He will drink. She will cry and then she, too, will leave the beach. To the party. There, they see each other. They hold each others gaze for an instant, they look away. The bottles clink against the cup. The moments flash by. The waves roll in and out, in, and out.
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