The Shadow Anthology

Fiona & The Man

Fiona awoke after a troubled night of sleeping. She opened her eyes in a daze and sleepily staggered to her window. She turned away from it as she opened the curtains and slowly turned back to adjust her eyes to the blinding sun. The young woman was at peace, given the idyllic setting, though she couldn’t bring herself to force a smile where her positivity would normally lie. She stepped out of her room and into the hallway where she found that nobody had stirred. The hall was mostly quiet, barring the lulled breeze that intruded through some cracked window.

Her sandals were by the front door, but she left them, purposefully. With an uncomfortable swimsuit covering what never seemed to be enough for her, along with a bottle full of stinking sun cream, Fiona walked hesitantly outside. She had never liked revealing her body to people, nor did she appreciate other bodies being put on display for her evaluation. This holiday was forcing her into uncomfortable territory so she fought back as best she could, with a mask.

When she stepped out of her villa and onto the soft sand, she decidedly donned a new persona. She took the thick, little band from her impatient wrist and wrapped her curly blonde hair in a ponytail. After releasing it to the wind, her hair bounced up and down with each stride and gently waved in the wind. Her walk grew in power with every step and she now left a defined, lasting imprint on the sand. She walked over to the bannister and whipped off her towel. It fell over her back with a flourish as she advanced to her day-bed.

The beach was seemingly empty. Fiona let out a slightly shaking breath as she began to lie down on her towel. She let her eyes shut. Her ears gradually dulled her other senses while they lost focus of the shore, sending her to sleep. However, she had only been sleeping lightly when Nina chose to settle down next to her. She awoke but didn’t rise immediately. Nina had brushed against her daughter’s right shoulder so Fiona deduced she would lie there.

The young woman lay her right hand beside her towel on the sand. She spread her fingers out from her palm and felt the ground for subtle tremors. Being careful not to release a signal that she was now awake, Fiona listened to the quiet beach and waited a while for her mother’s senses to settle. When the woman was finally resting, Fiona opened her eyes and sat up, knowing that Nina had her headphones on and had shut her eyes.

Unsure of why she had just performed this circus of deception, the young woman looked around her inquisitively, as though she searched for a physical explanation for her behaviour. The only image on the barren beach which seemed peculiar enough to fit her criteria was the unmoving statue atop the unstable ridge. Fiona examined the shape with peaked curiosity, though she did this in frequent fleeting glances as it stood before the sun. Eventually, she gathered the motivation to move toward the statue. Without disturbing Nina or removing her mask, the young woman remounted the sand and marched unhindered across the scorching beach, her feet blushing with every step.

Shaded concrete made for a temporary haven from sandy scalding, not that she showed any sign of pain or relief. The path that lay before her was both slender and short which forced Fiona to continue onto the wispy grass. Somehow, despite the heat and recent lack of rainfall, the windswept grass had maintained a vibrant, verdant tint. Though her maskwouldn’t admit, the grass was a balm to the young woman’s aching feet. Even with her impressive strides it took Fiona several minutes to completely ascend the hill. Upon reaching the pinnacle she found her statue to be an old man. He didn’t quite seem elderly, nor did he seem slightly incapable, though she was certain he was over fifty. They finally stood parallel to one another. The sight of him was gifted to her by the sun and she analysed him with eager grace.

The man had his back to her at first, so Fiona took her time pleasantly looking him over. He held a crumbling wooden cane in his left hand, but his unwavering stature in the wind suggested he had no real need for it. His glasses were clearly worn often, given the distinct groove they had left on his face. His faded shirt had begun to bleach under the saturating sunlight. Though he wasn’t quite balding, the man had thin, wispy hair that was guided by the breeze. His tweed jacket with leather patches gave Fiona the impression of a professor.