"POINTE DU GRAVE "
by Nadia Brown
Pointe du Grave was a mistake. Quite by accident, we arrived at that barren tip of heaven.
"End of - ligne," the conductor warned us in timid English, as we stepped from the last evening train. We had not been paying attention.
"Oh well!"
Laughing, we ran from the final railway tie to the beach we now overlooked from the dunes. Below, at the bottom of a precipice, was an abandoned combat bunker - damp and untouched; thick with the nostalgia of devastation. It compelled us to speak in whispers.
"Come and see the sunset," he called me now, waving a can of beans by the fire. Nestled together, we watched the ruby sky dissolve into the ocean. Silently we ate our cold beans and bread, as shards of pink and scarlet melted into black. Our eyes strained against the twilight - anxious, as though searching to confirm that the horizon encompassed our home as well. And then the night claimed the Atlantic, washing the shore with a fathomless silence. There we sat in the cold, gritty sand, enclosed by the sweet shivering promise of the dark.
It dipped to zero degrees that August night. We huddled knee deep in our backpacks, adorned by every piece of clothing they contained. Our arms, as we held each other, shivered with delight. That night, we slept in the open dunes of Pointe du Grave. How strange to find perfection at the end of the line.
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Nadia is a mother, aspiring writer, and physician, who hopes - eventually - to live life in that order of priority. She is a recent alumnus of the Humber School for Writers Correspondence Program, which was an immensely helpful and humbling experience. Pointe du Grave is her first publication.
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