3 The Run.

The dawn broke over the ocean, and the water glistered like a thousand jewels under the rising sun. It was another morning for Chris, but he didn't partake in the joy of the catcalls that sang to hail the day. He'd slept little and inadequately, for his mind was troubled by the events of the night.

He heard a knock on his door, but he didn't want to answer it. His body was sick and his eyes were heavy. He wished he could stay in his bed and forget the world.

Maybe he was just ignoring it for he wanted to stay a little longer by her side but now came an alternate knock, one that indeed the dead could not cease to hear, so he muttered a little and smiled to the wind and rose from his slumber.

He turned the clump open and though it was Ann before him, in the mind of his eyes he came to see her and smiled when he saw her smile. Chris's aspect dallied on Ann for a moment, taking in her appearance. Ann shifted slightly under his gaze, feeling a bit tone-conscious. But he watched not, he was obsessed. She looked up at him and snappily knew commodity was amiss.

"Chr..is" she stammered, feeling uneasy with his aspect ." I came to check you out, everyone was a bit concerned for you no way came for the regale."

Chris looked at Ann and smiled," I am sorry, I did not mean to worry anyone. I just had a lot on my mind and could not sleep.

" Thank you for checking on me." Ann jounced, understandingly." Is there anything I can do to help?" she asked. Chris shook his head," No, it's alright. I will be fine. I just need some time to suppose."

Ann gave him a reassuring smile," Alright, take all the time you need. We are then for you if you need us." Chris smiled back at her, feeling thankful for her concern and support." Thank you, Ann. I appreciate it."

With that, Ann turned and left, leaving Chris to his studies. He knew he'd a lot to figure out, but for the first time since the night ahead, he felt like he was not alone. He'd musketeers who watched about him and that gave him the strength to face whatever lay ahead.

On a day of dusk and silence, when the heavy shadows enshrouded the sky, he walked back to the sand, his heart heavy with craving. The moon cast a ghostly light upon the reinforcement, and the swells rumored secrets to the beach. He hoped to see her again, to confess his passions and lay bare his soul.

He sat upon the root of a gnarled tree that hung over the water, staying for her, but she no way came. So he began to play his guitar, the notes rising and falling like the drift. The music calmed his demons and soothed his worried mind.

But as he grew tired and rose to leave, something held him back. A strange and peculiar feeling, like a cold hand upon his heart. An image, a statue, a figure like hers, or maybe just another dream of his.

And a song began to take shape, haunting and melancholy. Maybe it was called the song of the' what might have been'. He stood watching it approach from a distance, his heart racing with expectation. But she faded again, like a mirage in the desert. He turned to walk down, the weight of his guitar hanging heavily by his side. and it reminded him of his constant dreams and his passion. But also that song had melodies like the rattling of a snake that suppressed it.

As the night grew darker and further portentous as if some malignant force was at work. The wind howled through the trees and the swells crashed against the reinforcement with renewed fury. And at that moment, he knew that he was alone, with only his music to keep him company.

Ann stood by, watching him approach from a distance. His way was lazy, his face down to the earth, his guitar swinging horribly by his side. She knew, for formerly, that he was troubled. And Tomas, his father, sounded to be bothered by the wind that danced with his red jacket, making him look like a good-for-nothing wind-sown son.

Now he felt an unforeseen bite in the air as if the veritably breath of death had brushed against his skin. He looked up and saw dark shadows gathering in the sky, like a burial cloak. He heard a grumble of thunder and saw a flash of lightning, but that didn't worry him for his studies were consumed by her.

Not only that, but upon reaching his room, he passed Ann without a word as if she were a ghost. He opened the door and entered, closing it behind him with a sense of futurity. He put his guitar on stage and took off his jacket, slipping the weight of the world.

He went to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water as if seeking to quench an unappealable thirst. He drank it sluggishly, trying to calm his jitters. But his mind was in fermentation, like a storm-tossed ocean. He wondered what he should do next. Should he call Ann and tell her how he felt? Should he write a song about his passions and play it for her? Should he just forget about her and move on with his life?

He decided to take a nap and clear his head. He went to his bedroom and lay down on his bed, seeking a retreat from the world. Furthermore, he closed his eyes and tried to relax. He hoped that when he woke up, he'd have an answer. But as he drifted into sleep, he had a strange dream. A dream that was both beautiful and terrible. He pictured that he was back on the sand, playing his guitar and staying for her. She was sitting coming to him, harkening hard. She smiled at him and leaned in near. Likewise, she rumored in his observance," I love you, Chris." He felt a swell of joy and wrapped his arms around her. He kissed her and said," I love you too."

But also commodity changed. The sky grew dark, and the wind howled like a banshee. He reached out for her hand, but she was too far down.