It’s early. The sun hasn’t come up yet, not even a small bit of light hits the sky nor the mountains. El wraps and winds her gown around her body. Her feet are pale hands on the wooden floorboards. She walks to the window, the curtains are already open, looks out at the sea, then to the mirror where she can see the ocean spreading out behind her.
It is about 10am when she puts the coffee on the stove.
There are no birds. She wonders, where have all the birds gone? It wasn’t long ago that the cherry tree outside her kitchen window was climbing with them. Red hot stains on the bark. El takes to reading outside, but really she is listening and watching the shed—it sits behind the wood stacks, leaves and the compost heap which never gets emptied.
The clock doesn’t chime, but it is that time already.
Lunch is almost always the same, however when El turns on the small lamp in the cupboard, lingering with her hand on the string, she abruptly tugs it off. She’s not hungry anymore, she thinks. For the rest of the day her stomach grumbles.
Fifteen minutes later El makes her way back into the cupboard. She stares into the darkness at the neat rows of food.
The sun is moving towards sunset when El makes her way to the back garden. It doesn’t get much light back here at this time of day. El shivers in her gown, her bare feet cracking twigs. The door will be jammed, stiff since it hasn’t been opened in so long. It is going to be musky in there. El has worn a scarf around her nose and mouth. But the door comes open easily, and the air is almost fresh. El doesn’t need to turn on the light, she can see the neat rows like ruby jewels. El counts the rows, and counts again. She cannot believe it.
It is twilight by the time she has finished smashing each jar of cherries on the lawn. But now El is at the beach.
There are several different types of seaweed. In the distance, they appear as slippery figures, lying upon the shore. El holds herself against the spray and watches the endless movement of the sea. There are chunks of foam, yellowed and pitted, sitting on the hard sand. El finds small shells that look like fingernails, she rubs these between her thumb and forefinger as she approaches the wharf. The wharf is a stage, where people come to watch the sea change moods. The sun has set when El sees a figure on the end of the wharf. El feels a small hand clench in her chest and approaches quickly. But not fast enough, as the figure drops off the end. El rushes just in time to see the disturbance of the water. She calls out, leaning over as far as she dares. Speaking into the blackened water. She calls again, louder over the roar of the ocean, but no one else is on the wharf to join up with her calls.
It is about 10am when El puts the coffee on the stove. She sips and watches the birds. So many birds covering almost every inch of the lawn.
It is only when sunset comes that she finds the shattered jars, red stains and she can’t understand why anyone would do such a thing.