The Crashing Of Waves

Politeness remains. The last bastion of hope. Even at the end of civilisation awkward politeness will see us through.

“How’ve you been?”

My blood freezes in my veins, I’m lost again; in over my head; drowning. I’m treading water in an unfathomably deep, stormy ocean; isolated on all sides for thousands of miles. There is no one to help. The black water slaps my face, choppy waves force their salty path into my mouth. I can’t help but swallow the foul, bitter, elixir. How can I stay afloat in this ocean of despair and emotion? She knows me. How? I have no idea who is she is. There is nobody to throw me a life-ring; everybody just looks on in terrifying apathy.
Has she mistaken me?
She has mistaken me.
The dizzying high of my fear ebbs into disappointment.
She thinks I’m someone else.
I am someone else.
I’m out of the deep and left spluttering for breath on the ground, slumped in the mud and the discarded dreams of the backstreets, coughing up water. My throat is aching, crying out from this punishment. I’m alive but humiliated.

“David? How’ve you been?”

She knows me.
I’m back in the great tossing ocean. Alone. Left to the fury of Neptune.
I’m dead.