The Sailor’s Wife

The night came over the docks and captured the sky, pushing the blood-red sun beneath the horizon. A handful of stars made up the moon’s companions, causing envy to seep into the lonely heart shivering below.

Wrapped tightly in her husband’s raincoat, the sailor’s wife stood by the restless sea, the wind nipping at her cheeks. She tasted salt; whether ocean spray or tears she could not discern. She reached up a hand to sweep the drops away; an eyelash parted with them.

Make a wish, she thought.

She did, and like a kiss, she blew it out to sea. She watched it fall into the waves, where it planted itself and grew as tall as a house. It took the form of a ship with billowing sails. A man threw an anchor overboard and her heart daringly pounded. The ship docked. The man came running towards her, his arms outstretched.

She grabbed him and cried into his weathered shirt, I thought—I thought; the sentence wouldn’t finish itself. But it didn’t need to.

I’ll never leave the shore again, he promised. She felt his arms wrap around her; his chest, a furnace, at war with the biting wind.

Words of gratitude had nearly parted from her lips; a thundering clap awoke her. Her fists clung to tear-soaked sheets. The sea, ever unsparing, stole her sailor away.