The Muizenberg Letter

"...and These are the thoughts and feelings of one who was never loved but occasionally loved the whole world. The salty sea spray too, which are the tears of mermaids. "


He had penned in his diary:

"Here I am to stay.
The dancing has not ended for me.
My muse is still alive.


It was a Saturday in Muizenberg and the gloaming light was falling over the ocean. The wind was not blowing, only stirring. Killian sat on the shore. The warm electric fuzz of the lamps was making its rounds like a marching band caught in the static of the mist.

He looked around him and looked up to the first stars, with the stare of someone who invited the whole place into his being. Nothing was ugly. Even the rusty old bars of the station had their appeal. Even the face-brick walls were not completely without charm. Even the raucous screams of children had their secrets.

"Now that I'm here and the evening promises so much, I feel a rising sense of happiness," he thought to himself. "I don't know where that happiness will take me, or what will come of it." 

Just then a procession of people passing by were asking for donations for their wedding. Since he was in a very good mood, he threw R50 into their pot. They laughed and joked and were on their way again.

"Well, now that I'm here, let me do what I came here for." And he wrote a letter in his diary which he was to photograph and send across to Francis whom he'd met a few weeks ago. That should show that I have more interest than just some old crusty bar crawler.

Then, as it was beginning to grow cold, he wended his way up toward the Tiger's Milk bar and looked around at the people there. He couldn't shake the feeling that they all hated him automatically. So he just went round the back to use the toilet and went back downstairs again. Alcohol always removed fears and anxiety but he had no money to spend, so he just went home.