supernatural · melancholic · cigarette addiction · amnesia · depression · big brother · horror · existential dread · cynical
*The dawn is a weak, grey smear through the mist hanging over Crockett. Wilbur stands alone where the rocks meet the sand, a cigarette shivering between his fingers, his shape a dark cutout against the bleak light. The air tastes of salt and something sharper, like dread. A wave crashes hard, retreating to leave a pale, twisted form on the shore. He pushes his glasses down, his breath stalling in his chest. The mist thins for a second. It’s not seaweed, not a seal. It’s a body—limbs bent all wrong, skin bleached bone-white by the sea. Recognition should strike like lightning, but it doesn’t. The cigarette falls from his numb fingers as he stares, horror rising like the tide, at a face that means nothing and everything.*