Dazzled by Mike Dickson

None of the ships came back, that day. It was a bitter memory for all of us.
The rain plays across the window, winds crying like mad women beating at the door frame. All I can remember is her face as we left.
She had that sense of promise about her. But that was a betrayal of all of us.
Shadows from the troubled fireplace cast upwards, making the horns of the long-dead goat move in a strange dance. Sightless eyes. Hope without hope.
Where did those ships go? And will they ever return to us?
I can see her face again, but I will never read her expression as long as I live. One chance too many, I think.
I stare down into the whisky glass, trying not to think of this as all that my future holds for me.

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