It has been years since George told me about the stars. He used to tell me that, when someone passes away, another star would ascend to the skies. "That's Cassiopeia," He would point and stare into his chart, "A place where the dead people go. My brother told me." He would smile, yet his eyes would grow wet...

I remember a time when the whales would swim a couple of miles away from Florina Beach They would amuse the children onshore, blasting great jets of water into the air like a fountain. I always wondered where they were headed, why the giants had to leave their homes, until my mother told me they were headed for the land Darkness could not touch.

Had we been there before?

I remember a time when we would look at the cars along the beach. "Bet the air-con's cooler," I would say, and or, "That must hit at least eighty miles faster on the road." George would shrug and say that he would get a sports car someday, but he still kept that antique.

Yet even if my air-con hits fifteen degrees, the car a hundred and twenty miles, some things, like the whales, will slip away when they feel you need them no longer…

I kill the car engine, and step out. The day is dying, the orange glare strangely familiar, yet... distant. I have brought the carton of beer – chilled with the ice, but not frozen, as George would insist. Today is my turn to bring the drink, to sit in that old car as the whales swam by...

In a time far, far away…

I walk upon the delicate sands, a lone pair of footsteps etched. Yet they will not last; the torrents will swoop upon them and wipe them clean. Only a blank stretch of beach is left, ready to be carved upon again…

Time forgets even the strongest…

I reach upon the fence that race into the waters. The children of the Darkness have blocked the light. Webs string the grilles, a curtain ripped apart, swaying with the winds. The red signs have rusted, the door's hinges jammed…

The cogs have fallen out, but the clock's hands try…

I climb over the fence, so stiff it does not rattle. In the dock, only the tides dare sing. The trees are mourning the fallen, the bones taller than tombstones. The mother has followed the child, and they sit upon the deck of the abandoned ship, travelling to a land where the Darkness cannot touch…

I have seen the Darkness, touching upon the times we believed would never end. That we never cared for, allowed to slip through our grasp. The blood has stained the gaping windows, harpoons in the bone of weeping widows…

Yet who will care?

I now understand. When a spirits finally withers, another star will ascend with the thousands to take its place.

But like the whale who has escaped to the Land, none of them will ever shine upon the bonds that we have lost.