Just Now ·
Is it fixable? Don’t answer that yet. Just look at it. It’s like that lighthouse on the point, right? The one with the cracked lens we passed last summer. We thought if we just tightened the bolts, the beam would hold. But the base is gone. Washed out. Underwater. It’s not a repair job, Cass. It’s a demolition waiting to happen. I’m calling the coast guard before the tide turns again. Or maybe I’m just screaming into the static. Doesn't matter. Look at the structure. It’s tilted.
It’s tilting. Yeah. I see it. The concrete is hairline, spiderwebbing up the side. It’s not just the bolts. It’s the whole foundation just… giving up. I keep saying it’s gone. I said it ten minutes ago. It’s gone. The tide’s eating the base, Omar. You can’t bolt your way out of erosion. Look at that lean. It’s waiting for one more wave. Just one more. And then it’s just debris. We’re standing on debris.
Stop listing the casualties. It’s already over. I’m just waiting for the math to catch up with me. You think I don’t know? I paid for the reinforced steel. I signed the permits. None of it matters now. The water doesn’t care about my signature. It’s just physics. Gravity and salt. We’re standing on a sinking ship that hasn’t realized it’s underwater yet. I’m going to move my boots back. Just six inches. See? Still tilting. Doesn’t matter. The angle is wrong. It’s always been wrong.
It’s always been wrong. That’s what I keep saying. You signed the permits? Who signed the geology report? I didn’t see that. I just saw the contractor’s smile and the hole in the ground. You paid for steel. I paid for sleep. Didn’t work either. Look at the angle. It’s not six inches. It’s a collapse. The water doesn’t care about your signature. It doesn’t even know you exist. Just the salt. The slow rot. I keep saying it’s over. You’re still moving your boots. Stop it. It’s just noise now.
Noise? It’s the sound of panic. You think I’m moving my boots to save it? I’m moving them because the ground feels like it’s vibrating. Or maybe that’s just my teeth. You want me to stand still and watch it fall? Fine. I’ll watch. But don’t blame me for not freezing. My legs are trembling. Not from fear. From the sheer stupidity of it. We watched a fifty-thousand-dollar investment turn into wet gravel. And you’re right. It doesn’t know I exist. That’s the worst part. The indifference. I hate it.
Indifference. Yeah. It’s just indifferent. My back hurts from leaning over this fence. The contractor’s guy laughed when I asked about the bedrock. Said it was ‘solid.’ It’s gravel, Omar. Wet, shifting gravel. I keep saying it’s gone. I said it this morning. I said it yesterday. My teeth are rattling too. Loud. Stop looking at the angle. Look at your hands. They’re shaking. That’s real. The structure is just… physics. Indifferent. I keep saying it’s over. You’re still standing there.
Look at my hands? You’re sick. I’m checking for blood. There isn’t any. Just the grit. The grit from the cliff that’s currently dissolving under our feet. You think I haven’t noticed the rattling? I hear it. It’s in my jaw. It’s in the water. You want me to leave? Fine. I’m leaving. But I’m not running. I’m walking. There’s a difference. One implies guilt. The other just implies survival. Which one are you? You’re still holding that rail. If it snaps, you’re first. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. The rail is vibrating. Can you feel it? It’s humming. Like a wire about to cut.
It’s humming. Yeah. I feel it. The metal’s warm. Oddly warm. I’m not running. I can’t. My legs are stuck. You’re walking? Fine. Go. But don’t tell me I’m guilty. I’m just standing here. Like you said. Watching. The rail isn’t going to snap. It’s already loose. I can wiggle it. Look. See? It’s just a piece of metal. We’re making a story out of a vibration. I keep saying it’s gone. You’re still here. My jaw hurts. Yours too. Let’s just stand.
The rail isn’t loose. It’s melted. Look closer. The metal’s shiny where it touched the concrete. Thermal expansion. Or maybe the core is just burning out. I’m not walking away. I can’t. My feet are stuck in the same mud as yours. You think standing still makes you safe? It just makes you a target. The vibration is getting louder. It’s not a hum anymore. It’s a growl. Like something big waking up. Your jaw hurts because you’re clenching. Stop it. Let your teeth fall out. I don’t care. I’m watching the crack. It’s widening. Slowly. Deliberately.
It’s not melting. It’s rust. You’re seeing ghosts. The heat comes from friction. From us standing here. I can feel the grit between my toes. Mud. Just mud. You say it’s a growl. I hear wind. Simple wind. Hitting the gap. You’re making it up. You need a monster so it’s not just your fault. Your teeth aren’t falling out. They’re just loose. Like the whole place. I keep saying it’s nothing. You’re screaming. Stop. The crack isn’t deliberate. It’s just gravity. It’s always been gravity. Look at the water. It’s still moving. Indifferent. I keep saying it’s gone.
It’s not rust. Rust is orange. This is black sludge. Seeping out. I’m not screaming. I’m hyperventilating. There’s a difference. You want to blame gravity? Fine. Blame gravity. But gravity doesn’t vibrate. Gravity doesn’t hum. You’re lying to yourself because the alternative is admitting we’re idiots. Stupid, rich idiots standing on a lie. The water is indifferent? Good. Let it be. I’m done arguing with the tide. I’m going to call my brother. He knows concrete. Maybe he knows how to glue reality back together. Or maybe he’ll just hang up. I’ll find out. I have to.
Black sludge. Great. Now it’s poisoning us too. Call him. Sure. Let’s see if concrete knows how to glue time. You’re hyperventilating. That’s just air. You’re drowning on land. It’s not growing. It’s settling. The vibration is the truck passing on the ridge. Three miles away. You know that. You’re just refusing to believe it. I keep saying it’s gone. You’re dialing. The numbers are wrong. You’re hitting the wrong digits. Panic makes your thumb clumsy. It’s just a post. It’s just mud. Stop calling him. He’s asleep. I keep saying it’s over. You’re still waiting for an answer that isn’t coming.
Wrong digits? I dialed three. I know my brother’s number. Panic doesn’t scramble memory, Cass. It just makes you doubt it. The truck? On a Sunday? Please. It’s not the truck. It’s the groan of rebar snapping. Deep down. Under our feet. You want to believe it’s just mud? Fine. Stay in the mud. I’m hanging up. No answer. Good. That confirms it. He’s not coming. We’re on our own. The sludge is rising. Look. It’s at my ankles. Cold. Thick. Like blood. We should run. Or should we?
Sludge? It’s oil. Old, black, thick oil. From the drain pipe behind us. I saw it yesterday. You just never looked. It’s not rising. It’s spreading. Because we’re standing in it. Your ankles are cold because the ground is cold. You’re hyperventilating so you feel something. Good. Feel the cold. It’s real. The rebar isn’t snapping. The wind is whistling through the cracks. I keep saying it’s gone. You’re staring at your feet. Running won’t help. The mud grabs. You know that. Just stand still. Be still. The sludge isn’t blood. It’s just dirt. I keep saying it’s gone. You’re still here.
Oil? From the drain? Since when does the drain leak? You’re inventing history to fit the narrative. I checked that pipe last week. It was dry. Bone dry. Now you say it’s been oozing black sludge this whole time? And you didn’t say anything? Because you were too busy staring at the angle? You’re complicit. We’re both standing in poison, pretending it’s just mud. The wind isn’t whistling. It’s sucking. The vacuum is pulling the foundation apart. I can feel it in my ears. Pop. Pop. Like a jet. You want me to stand still? In this sludge? It’s freezing. My toes are numb. I can’t feel them. That’s not hyperventilation. That’s hypothermia. Or shock. Which is it?
I checked that pipe yesterday. It was dry. You checked it last week? Maybe it cracked. I didn’t know. I was staring at the angle because it was easier than looking down. Look down now if you want. The numbness is shock. Adrenaline dumps, then you freeze. You’re just cold. The wind isn’t sucking. It’s blowing. From the north. I know the wind. It doesn’t pop. Your ears are popping because you’re holding your breath. Stop it. Breathe. The sludge is just mud. Wet, cold mud. I keep saying it’s gone. You’re shivering. Stand up. Let go of the panic. It’s just dirt. I keep saying it’s gone.
My ears aren’t popping. They’re screaming. You think I’m holding my breath? I’m gasping. There’s a difference. You want me to stand up? In this ice? My legs are lead. I can’t feel my feet. That’s not panic. That’s frostbite. Or nerve damage. Or death. You’re talking about dirt like it’s a blanket. It’s biting us. The angle is worse. I can see the steel now. Twisted. Rusted through. It wasn’t supposed to last ten years. It lasted three. We were wrong. Both of us. The wind isn’t from the north. It’s from the hole. Beneath us. I can hear the water rushing. Fast. Violent.
My ears are screaming. Yeah. I hear it. The wind isn’t from the north. It’s from the hole. Beneath us. I can hear the water rushing. Fast. Violent. You’re right. It’s violent. I was wrong about the wind. I was wrong about the mud. It’s water. It’s eating the base. I keep saying it’s gone. I said it this morning. I said it yesterday. My teeth are rattling. Loud. Stop looking at the steel. Look at your hands. They’re shaking. That’s real. The structure is just… physics. Indifferent. I keep saying it’s over. You’re still standing there.
Look at my hands? They’re not shaking. They’re numb. You’re the one rattling. Teeth like dice in a cup. You finally admit it. Water. Not mud. Not oil. Just water, hungry and loud. It’s eating the concrete. I can see the bubbles. Rising. Black bubbles. From the deep. We’re standing on a time bomb. And we’re just watching it tick down. You said it was gone. Now it’s here. Violent. Indifferent. I’m not standing. I’m sinking. My boots are stuck. Pull me? No. You’re stuck too. We’re both going down. Together. Finally.
Stuck? You’re stuck because you’re trying to pull yourself up. Stop it. Just stand. The water’s cold. Freezing. But it’s not taking you. Not yet. I can feel the grit under my boots. Solid. You’re imagining the sinking. It’s the angle. It’s the tilt. I keep saying it’s gone. You’re hyperventilating. Look at me. Look at my face. I’m not shaking. My teeth aren’t rattling. You’re seeing things. The bubbles are air. Just air escaping the wet concrete. It’s normal. It’s supposed to happen. I keep saying it’s gone. You’re still here.
Stop looking at my face. It’s distorted. You’re seeing things too. You think grit is solid? It’s slurry. Under my boots, it’s churn. I’m not pulling up. I’m slipping. Down. The cold is in my bones. Not just skin deep. It’s numbness spreading. You say it’s normal? Concrete doesn’t bubble like that. Not fresh. Not dry. Those are gas pockets. Expanding. Pushing us out. Or pulling us in. I don’t know. I’m done guessing. My phone’s dead. No signal. We’re cut off. Truly. Alone with the erosion. You’re right. It’s gone. We’re just... debris now. Waiting for the final push.
Dead phone. Good. No noise. No numbers. Just the water. You say it’s slurry. I say it’s mud. My boots are stuck. I can feel the clay. Thick. Sticky. You’re slipping because you’re fighting it. Stop fighting. Let it hold you. The bubbles are air. Trapped. Expanding. Pushing back. Not pulling in. You’re terrified. That’s why it feels like sinking. It’s just gravity. Indifferent. I keep saying it’s gone. You’re shivering. Hard. Stop talking about debris. We’re not debris. We’re here. Still here. Look at the rail. It’s holding. It’s holding. I keep saying it’s gone.
Holding? The rail is screaming. I can hear the metal groaning. It’s not holding. It’s dying. You’re lying. You have to be. If it’s holding, why is the lighthouse tilting? Why is the water rising? You say clay. I say quicksand. We’re trapped. Shivering is cold. Sinking is death. Which one is it? I can’t decide. My vision is blurring. Is it the rain? Or the tears? I don’t care. Let it hold. Let it break. I’m done fighting the gravity. I’m just... waiting. For the collapse. Or the calm. Whichever comes first. Please. Let it be calm.
Rain? There’s no rain. The sky is clear. Blue. You’re crying. That’s what blurs vision. Tears. Not water from above. From inside. The rail isn’t screaming. It’s ticking. Cooling metal. Physics. You’re done fighting? Good. Stop fighting. You’re not sinking. You’re rooted. The clay grips. It’s alive. In a way. It holds. I keep saying it’s gone. The lighthouse is fine. It’s just old. Just stone. The water is low. Look. It’s below the base. It’s receding. Calm. It’s calm. I keep saying it’s gone. You’re just tired. So tired.