I stood still for a moment, letting my eyes take in the scene around me. *What now?* I thought, glancing down at my wristwatch. It read **10:01 AM**. The rain continued its gentle descent, a persistent drizzle that matched the gray clouds overhead. I tilted my head upward, watching the heavy sky as a faint smirk tugged at my lips.
*Maybe I won’t make it after all. Sorry, Mom—not my fault,* I mused. *Seems like fate has its own plans, keeping me from heading to Aunt Marie’s.* The thought sent a small thrill of rebellion through me, though I knew I had to at least *pretend* to make an effort. If I returned home too soon, Mom would definitely have something to say.
With a resigned sigh, I pulled my hood tighter over my head and began walking toward a covered area. The sound of my boots meeting wet pavement blended with the ambient hum of the port—engines roaring in the distance, faint voices carrying through the rain, and the steady rhythm of water hitting metal surfaces.
My backpack, though being pelted by rain, didn’t worry me; its waterproof material meant everything inside would stay safe. It was a small relief, considering how little else I had figured out.
"So, this is the port..." I muttered to myself, scanning the area. The wide expanse stretched before me, bustling with activity despite the weather. Dockworkers in neon vests moved with purpose, stacking crates and securing ropes to the large cargo ships that loomed like giants in the misty rain. Smaller passenger boats bobbed gently in their berths, their cabins glowing faintly with warm light.
The air was heavy with the smell of salt and diesel, a mix that reminded me of vacations by the sea when I was younger—simpler times. For a brief moment, I felt out of place, standing here with no clear direction, no idea where to go, or even who I was supposed to meet. *Bill or Billy… who are you?* I thought with mild exasperation.
The rain picked up slightly, pulling me back to the present. I headed toward a nearby bench sheltered under an awning, dropping my backpack beside me as I took a seat. My fingers toyed with the strap absentmindedly while my mind raced with possibilities.
*Should I ask someone? Call Mom again? Just sit here and wait for a sign?* My stomach churned with the uncertainty, but I shook it off. For now, I needed to regroup. If fate was truly playing games with me, I’d have to play along—at least for a little while longer.
"There are so many boats here," I thought, glancing around as we weaved through the port. How am I supposed to figure out which one belongs to Bill?
My wandering thoughts were interrupted when my eyes landed on an elderly lady struggling with a heavy crate of fish. Her movements were slow but deliberate, yet it was clear she could use some help. Without a second thought, I jogged toward her.
"Excuse me, ma'am," I called out. "Can I help you carry those?"
The woman, probably in her late sixties, paused and looked up at me with a kind smile. Her lined face carried a warmth that instantly made me feel at ease.
"Oh, bless you, dear," she said. "But instead of this crate, would you mind carrying that one over there? It's full of vegetables, and I don't want you smelling like fish all day." She chuckled softly as she gestured to a crate a few feet away.
"Sure thing," I replied, heading to the wooden crate she indicated. It wasn’t as heavy as I expected, and I quickly hoisted it up. I returned to her side, and with surprising ease, she lifted her own crate of fish.
"Thank you, young lady," she said as we started walking.
The port was vast, with pathways that seemed to stretch endlessly.
No description available. [https://scontent.fmnl4-6.fna.fbcdn.net/v/t1.15752-9/462580205_1260895215254690_7126784365369434492_n.jpg?_nc_cat=107&ccb=1-7&_nc_sid=9f807c&_nc_eui2=AeGhz6v9hc02PizzxkW5VvS89-Nao4bKxvT341qjhsrG9HRrJXGT1e4Fw38Jyc6TWuBs-YukJUNDpDtkA4nKGic1&_nc_ohc=EjO8_2Ubre0Q7kNvgEG9AjZ&_nc_zt=23&_nc_ht=scontent.fmnl4-6.fna&oh=03_Q7cD1QG9w6cz_amyGJmjONgW05Q7W3oyNbVeusJJ0B-rSy3bAw&oe=675E82FF]
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The sound of the water lapping against the boats was soothing, but my mind was still preoccupied.
*I hope Billy’s boat has already left. That will be one great news for me.* I smiled.
As we walked, I took note of the elderly lady’s outfit. She wore a large straw hat that shaded her entire upper body, paired with a yellow sweater vest over a white long-sleeved shirt adorned with lavender patterns. Simple gray jogger pants tucked into bright yellow rain boots completed her practical attire, and a transparent raincoat shielded her from the drizzle. Despite her age, she moved with a surprising strength and determination.
*The fish crate must be heavier than the vegetable one I'm carrying,* I thought, feeling a twinge of guilt. *I should’ve insisted on carrying hers instead.*
We continued straight, navigating through the crowded port before turning a few corners. Boats of various sizes lined the docks, and the faint chatter of dockworkers and fishermen filled the air. On our left, I noticed what looked like a guardhouse, its small window illuminated by a faint yellow light.
No description available. [https://scontent.fmnl4-1.fna.fbcdn.net/v/t1.15752-9/462568140_1223055145634744_4780788433376731248_n.jpg?_nc_cat=106&ccb=1-7&_nc_sid=9f807c&_nc_eui2=AeGPxNutii6ZBASTftReC4bVr2xWi1G0j4WvbFaLUbSPhYhcZb457yGPJaBQP6BJiEmg6K05TQvVUEeg_hVU2k5K&_nc_ohc=1g9oo7ZOZSkQ7kNvgE-jRP0&_nc_zt=23&_nc_ht=scontent.fmnl4-1.fna&oh=03_Q7cD1QHFm9ePzDZ_6J9mtCU7JCB0Ez2DuNRfKRE4EHtJWGZODw&oe=675E937D]
"This part of the port still has so many boats," I mused aloud. The woman glanced back at me briefly but didn’t respond, focused instead on leading the way.
I adjusted my grip on the crate, the damp wood rough against my palms. "Is it much farther, ma'am?" I asked, trying to hide the slight strain in my voice.
"Not much farther now," she said with a reassuring smile. "Just a bit past those boats there."
I nodded and kept pace with her, my eyes scanning the area for any clue that might lead me to Bill—or at least someone who knew him.
We continued straight and then turned to the right. I noticed that, at this point, the port’s structure seemed to taper off. The sea level had dropped low enough that the port deck was no longer necessary. Instead, the area transitioned to a more natural setting.
We descended a set of stairs built into the cemented side wall of the port, stepping onto a mixture of sand and crushed shells. The ground beneath our feet gave way slightly with each step, and as we walked, I spotted a few hermit crabs scuttling into their makeshift homes. They tucked themselves away as if shy of our presence.
I couldn’t help but admire the old lady’s stamina. Here she was, effortlessly carrying her heavy crate of fish, while my arms were starting to feel the burn. The weight of the vegetable crate was testing my endurance, and I bit the inside of my cheek in frustration.
*Aria, get it together,* I scolded myself internally. *You call yourself a volleyball player, yet here you are thinking about taking a break? Look at her—she's not even breaking a sweat!*
The mental image of myself shaking my head in disapproval spurred me onward. I adjusted my grip on the crate and focused on matching her steady pace.
After what felt like an eternity but was probably only a few minutes, something caught my eye in the distance. A lone boat was anchored near the shore, and a flock of birds hovered above it, swooping down occasionally as though scavenging for scraps.
"Is that where we're headed?" I asked, nodding toward the boat.
The old lady glanced ahead and gave a small, satisfied smile. "That’s the one, dear. Almost there."
No description available. [https://scontent.fmnl4-2.fna.fbcdn.net/v/t1.15752-9/462582302_903918921411928_6463275924956008317_n.jpg?_nc_cat=105&ccb=1-7&_nc_sid=9f807c&_nc_eui2=AeGeKSpNvqJcWg-NPq1TgK_sxBYaJXF-CtrEFholcX4K2oozITEQoiV5TtC0bN9rxjmuEaAUNIRcJatA6NOYoBuC&_nc_ohc=MDxV3yysd_MQ7kNvgEfffbr&_nc_zt=23&_nc_ht=scontent.fmnl4-2.fna&oh=03_Q7cD1QFP05ip0L7OtP2W3Y-1RwBeznIbbYcywugQdaM3dsX5tg&oe=675E9BE6]
As we drew closer to the solitary boat, an eerie chill swept over me, one that wasn’t just from the cold rain soaking through my hood. The atmosphere felt heavy, like something unspoken lingered in the air. The gray sky above, the relentless drizzle, and the flock of seagulls and crows circling the boat—all of it felt like a scene from a suspenseful nightmare.
The entire moment reminded me of Triangle (2009), Christopher Smith’s haunting film. Five friends set sail on what should have been a simple adventure, only for a sudden storm to capsize their yacht. Rescued by a looming, mysterious ship, they soon discover its curse: a relentless, repeating loop of terror and tragedy. Each step they took to escape only tightened the grip of their entrapment.
The film drew inspiration from the myth of Sisyphus, condemned by the gods to push a boulder uphill for eternity, only for it to roll back down each time he neared the top. His punishment was not just about futility but also about despair, the soul-crushing realization that his struggle would never end.
I couldn’t help but imagine myself in his place, endlessly reliving a moment of hopelessness or fear, trapped with no reprieve. It made my skin crawl
Could anyone truly maintain their sanity under such circumstances? I doubted it.
If I were trapped like that, I thought to myself, I’d lose my mind trying to find a way out, only to realize there was none.
I shook my head, trying to dispel the dark thoughts. “Don’t let your imagination get the best of you, Aria," I muttered under my breath. But the uneasy feeling lingered as the boat loomed closer.