the melodies


During the small hours, he makes his way to the water’s edge. Without fear, he walks in to the sea. With only a few steps, the sea is at his knees. He continues on; the tide swirls around his waist, then his chest.

Another step and the water is to his neck.

He closes his eyes. He drops beneath the waves. He floats. He drifts.

The melodies carry him along with the current. They are louder, more harmonious then ever before. He feels at one with them. They are his companion like no other. They remove the chill of the sea, filling him with warmth.

In that moment, they sing just for him.

He is blessed. He has been saved. He has been purified.


The melodies help soothe his soul. They call to him, comfort him, caress him. But there are times when the melodies themselves change. Their tune becomes melancholic; they sing to him in an altered way as the wind carries them in a different direction.

He feels the pain. He feels their pain.

He wants nothing more than to be able to take it away.

It is during these times he wishes he could sing his own song, to project himself across the waves, across the thousands of miles and lift the melodies from their despondent reverie. He longs to be able to console them from their heartache, to provide them with a safe haven they can turn to in times of trouble, suffering and woe.

He stands at the shoreline. He waits for their song to sing again.  He will always wait, no matter how long it takes. 

He waits, alone. His heart remains full, despite its fragility, with hope.

He looks to the horizon, eyes unblinking. He cannot turn away. He will not turn away, no matter how much it hurts. 


The pale light of dawn heralds the new day. Another day. A brief moment in time. A solitary grain of sand on the beach.

To him, each day is like a lifetime. A lifetime filled with love. With hope.

His heart still beats strong.

He stands at the water’s edge once more. He hopes that the melodies feel his presence. It is his turn to be a beacon for them.

“Come to me,” he cries. “Come rest here, rest at my side until you find your strength and your spirit once more.”

He outstretches his arms.

“Come to me. I’m here now and always for you.”


 He dreams. The melodies fill his senses. He can see their colours. He hears their chorus. He feels their warmth as he holds them in his arms. He hopes that the melodies feel safe with him, that they find solace with him. He does not want to wake.

 The waves take him, but he is no longer afraid.

He no longer feels the cold.

He no longer feels alone.

He drifts slowly, calmly and peacefully, undulating with the ocean swell. The melodies stay with him. Their sound is his guide; their sound keeps him on course. Their sound fills both his head and his heart.

The need for him to run has lessened. The desire to hide is no longer as strong. As each day passes he finds he can hold his head up slightly higher. He feels he can stand taller. With hope.


There are still times when he cannot face people in the eye; these occasions are now thankfully a rarity rather than the norm. The song of the melodies lifts his spirit; provides him with strength. Their song has helped release him. They have helped free him from the shackles and chains of his mind and his heart.


He clearly remembers being afraid. He was always afraid. His earliest emotional memory is being scared. He has suffered years and years of being frightened. Childhood. Adolescence.

As an adult, his gruff and stony exterior helped to mask his fear from the world. It was all an act. An attempt to hide, to camouflage himself. To keep his demons buried deep within. To hide that terrified little boy.

His shame.

His self loathing.

Every single fucking insecurity.

It has taken a long time, but he is finally no longer afraid. He had to become completely broken to release the fear; he was shattered, splintered and fragmented. His scars are visible to those who truly know him. He looks in the mirrors and sees the stitches, the patches, the joins.

A Modern Prometheus.

His scars are evidence of his survival. A permanent reminder of where he came from and what he has managed to become.

The future is filled with hope. A future without fear.


His heart beats stronger than ever. He may not have the voice to reach the distance across the ocean, but he hopes that the melodies can be soothed by the sound of his heart beating. They beat to a rhythm deep within.

The rhythm never stops.


The rain starts to fall. It is gentle and comforting.

He starts to dance. The melodies would want him to dance.

When they return, he will dance with them.

The melodies push him on.

At times he doesn’t hear them, but he remembers their tune.

Their song helps keep him feeling alive.


(he wishes he could hear them sing when he really needs them. he needs to always hear them. they help keep the fear from his door).


He rests on the shore. He waits. The wind gently blows on his face. The melodies are faint, but carried on the very edge of the wind. They fill him with hope once more. One day they will call him home.



This is my response to the WordPress Weekly Writing Challenge. It’s a re-working of an old theme that I had run out of steam with. It’s been strange revisiting, editing and condensing it, but also rather satisfying.

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