[ WP ] At the edge of the city , you could look out into the dark .

At the edge of the city, you could look out into the dark. There was nothing interesting to see out there. Weeds and broken bottles lined a rocky seashore, and the waves rolled in with a soothing regularity. Despite the mundane nature of the mirky inlet, there was something strange about the place that always drew Conner back. He would come after his shift at the factory and stare at the smoldering horizon, acrid water lapping at his feet, a thick smoke torpid on the breeze. It was a lonely, deprecating exercise that stretched well into the night, one that allowed the youthful man to harness his imagination and invent a terrible fantasy. He was an escapist, and it did him objectively more harm than good. For every distant land he soared away to on those banks, he had a more foul realm always reeling him back in. Its voice was shrill and its leash cut into his neck. 
 
 Conner would peer out into the dark and see an ornate concerto hall, hear the symphonic orchestra prepping their finest number. He would poise at the edge of his seat, eager to embrace sweet refined melodies of composure and sophistication- and then it was gone. 
 
 Yes, the dark bank allowed him to escape for the most fleeting of moments, there on the unloved beach, but without fail it smashed him against the hard rocks again and again. It would wake him up mercilessly, beating the youth until he bled out onto the gravel and stone. He would gasp for his breath while the beacons that he ’ d been sure were luxurious yachts withdrew to the low burning oil rigs from whence they ’ d come. 
 
 There was nothing commendable about Conner ’ s situation. 
 
 “ How was the factory, love? ” 
 
 He would stare with dead eyes at the grime clinging to the rim of the drain, ignoring the question as it was repeated a second time. 
 
 “ Love? Are you alright? ” Blue eyes of the clearest strain stared up into Conner ’ s face. They searched the rough topology of his features much the same way he did the dark. 
 
 His answer was always the same. “ Yeah, Sarah, I ’ m fine, honest. ” 
 
 His wife ’ s thin frame seemed particularly lurid in the stark light of the kitchen. Conner stared at her as she shifted a load of dishes out of the way, pulling several garments and a washboard over to the steel basin. He knew he took her for granted. He didn ’ t care. 
 
 Out on the bank, the man wiped blood from his nose and spit heavily into the dark tide as it slowly crept forward. He took a long swig from his flask, shuddering, never taking his eyes off the formless line that stretched endlessly left and right. His feet hurt from the cobbled streets in the city. They were rough and unpaved, left to repair another day. He had walked all the way to the Kanji district today, forfeiting precious hours of pay in order to visit the depot there. He felt a bitterness welling up inside. 
 
 “ Conner Folger. Say, is that you? ” 
 
 He looked up at the burly assistant manager who had traipsed down the assembly line. It had to be quite the occasion for one of them to come all the way down to the floor. 
 
 “ I said, is your name Folger? ” 
 
 “ Aye. ” 
 
 “ Boss needs to see you up in the crow ’ s nest. ” 
 
 Conner set down his tools, another worker taking his place on the line. He crossed the floor, mounting a set of steel steps that led to the managerial office space. He observed the factory as he climbed the stairs, his mind jumping away from the meticulous activity. Sarah had been ill lately. Not really in bad physical shape- just not herself. She was weak and hadn ’ t been eating. He had yelled at her last night and now he felt awful, almost positive she had taken it the wrong way. He could never say things right. 
 
 Back on the shore, the anger swelled in his heart. He kicked at the waves and, finding the victim of his violence to be far too ephemeral, threw himself to the ground, beating at the rocks. He screamed until his voice was gone and a metallic taste filled his mouth. He lay still for a while, regulating his breathing and eventually pulling out the tin can he had recovered from the Kanji district. It had cost him a month ’ s worth of wages. Popping it open, he delicately grabbed the small capsules inside, quickly downing them with a mouthful of the polluted saltwater that gurgled on the course aggregate underneath his body. The lights of the rigs began to swim, and the heavens opened up, spilling forth a glorious array of color that splashed onto the lifeless waters below. Conner saw several fins out on the bay, massive creatures that patrolled otherwise placid shores, making sure no one could ever escape the suffocating clutches of the city. He would have tried to swim away by now had it not been for those sharks. He forgot the lights and focused on the fish, becoming irrationally cross. 
 
 “ You PRICKS! ” He screamed at the aquatic beings. “ Why can ’ t you let us go!? ” 
 
 Conner stopped and listened for their response, his delirium setting in with full force. “ Why the *fuck* are you ignoring me?! ” He screamed to the giant fins circulating the cold waters. “ They don ’ t pay you enough for this! They don ’ t pay you enough- “ 
 
 The man began to cough, choking on his own words. He stumbled forward into the water. 
 “ You pricks just wan na see us die! You just want to see us bleed until we can ’ t no more! ” He still spoke to the sharks. “ That ’ s all you bloodthirsty bastards want… ” 
 
 Conner fumbled around in the water, his hand closing around a sharp object buried in the gravel. “ Thas all you want… ” He raised the broken shard of glass and slashed open his arm, gritting his teeth in pain. “ Drink up you *fucking* beasts. ” 
 
 He continued to cut himself until his blood saturated the water, somehow making the chilly tide even darker in the night. 
 
 Conner woke up in the morning. He was beached on the bank, covered in silt and dried blood. Pale light washed over his shredded arms, revealing deep scars that had been reopened time and time again. Struggling up onto his knees, the man began to sob. He had lost his job at the factory yesterday. He wasn ’ t sure how he would pay for rent, much less medicine for Sarah and food for both of them. He ’ d spent all of his savings on the small tin can that had induced his hallucinations the night before, his only escape. He sat there for a while, wallowing in his own self pity. 
 
 It was a strange thing to be a passerby on that unforgiving shore, listening to strangled wails float up into the sky. Despite the veiled morning sun, you could stand on that beach and look out into a cruel, pitiful darkness.
