"The sea cannot be his, cannot be his. The sea cannot be his."

He woke up on her side of the bed, an echo pounding down deep in his head. "The sea..."

He reached for the bottles he kept within arm's reach - as he struggled to twist off the first cap, his key keeper knocked on the door before walking in a breakfast tray elegantly arranged. A feast for two.

Although by now the knocks had become mute, this one was as different as yesterday's, carrying the sound of hope. A flash flood of memories filled his head. He thought of what he would say only to drop the bottle of pills, cursing under his breath as the door slowly opened.

His heart bled a little bit. The room darkened - the pound in his head returned bringing him to a rage of black tears. He tasted salt. It burned more than the tip of the tongue, corroding his pride before clinging like oysters to his vocal cords, blocking his airway.

His keeper entered the room in goose feather gloves and goose feather shoes - setting down the tray, she picked up each pill from the floor and bed and pointed to a letter-sized envelope sitting on one corner of the tray. "This one came early this morning."

He picked up the envelope, held it up to the light of the keeper's eyes and then brought it to his nose. Taking in more than a few breaths, he fell asleep.

The sea...

He sat on the rocks of Gibraltar. He crossed the sea with his eyes before resting them in the dim light of the old light house.

Breathing in waves, exhaling seasalt and fear, he opened the envelope and began to read.