When insomnia led her to a peculiar old fisherman. Who would expect it to become a moment of realization?
The soft voice of a gentleman on a bicycle, who dressed in a blue uniform shirt, asks a frightening woman in a violet nightgown. She sits by the concrete road in the village, close to a small garden. She doesn’t know the cause of her abnormal sleep pattern. The woman usually has a peaceful night ever since she moved out of town to this small seaside village, called Gite de la petite mort.
“Would you like a company to get you home?”
The security officer, Jack, offers her a hand to help her up off the street.
A woman, presumably in her late 30s, takes his hand and brushes off dust from her gown. She takes a deep breath before answering him.
“Sure, how many times has it been that you escort me home in the middle of the night?”
“Well, five times at least, I assume.”
A subtle smile can be seen on his face as he gets down from his bicycle.
It could be said that the woman often panics at night, especially if she suddenly wakes up around 2.00 am. She moved to this village a while back with nothing but two suitcases and a cat. The neighbor often talks with her on multiple occasions, which doesn’t happen much unless she goes into the commerce area. However, as a journalist, it is her responsibility to catch the attention of everything around her, inside and outside the village. She has long brunette hair with soft pink lips. She reads and writes daily, ranging from non-fiction to sarcastic short cartoons. Her friendly nature helps her connect with many people in the village, yet no one really understands the person in this one-floor house, as she has barely mentioned her past or the cause of her paranoia in recent weeks.
“You should not go out of the house alone at night; it is dangerous out here.”
The officer told her while they walked uphill. The woman's cottage sits atop a small hill in the village, near the shallow cliff by the beach.
“I know that resident safety is the top priority for you. It's just that I get so frustrated every time I lay my head down on a pillow. My cat has withdrawn attention from me ever since I moved too. ”
She replied as she faced down the road, watching her foot crush a layer of sand grains on the road. The churchly sound seemed to distract her from the loud voice in her head. The light wind blows from land to sea, making her hair fly in the same direction. A silence between them had always been this tone for most of the time.
They finally approached the woman’s place. As she walked past the gate, the officer spoke up for the first time.
“Well, if it’s troubling your sleep, why don’t you go fishing?”
“Pardon?”
The woman turned to the security officer with both eyebrows furrowed in the middle of her forehead.
“Fishing is an outdoor activity that can function as a leisure or hardcore exercise. Why don’t you go to the harbor on the east side of the village? There is an old fisherman who can teach you how to make the best of this activity.”
He eagerly suggests the woman try something entirely new. She tends to let all the words pass through her ear and dissolve in the wind. This time, it just stuck with her right at the moment.
“I will consider your suggestion. Thank you very much for today's walk. Have a good night.”
She replied and bowed to the man slightly as she sent him off on the bicycle down the hill. She walked back into her home and jumped into the bed, lying down and recalling the world that the officer mentioned as her eyelids began to fall.
It was around noon of the next day when she finally got out of bed because of the meowing sound from another room.
She makes her bed, then takes a shower, letting the shower noise cover that sound of the little furry creature.
It has been quite some time since she cleaned the bedroom. It’s full of scrap paper and an inkless pen. She had been struggling internally for some time, and her way of channeling those feelings is writing. She wrote an article for the local newspaper about what happened outside the area. Although people don’t seem to care what’s going on, it’s best to have some knowledge of what to face when they travel.
She works on the column at home today. The radio sound still echoes throughout the house. She wants to keep things updated as much as possible so that she won’t lose her income in the long run.
As she sat down to make notes on the latest news, she slowly lost control of her pen after half a page. It is not her habit to lose herself in her own thoughts. Her letter went from readable to a scribble worse than a child's.
She closed the radio and walked out to the back of her cottage. The beautiful ocean screen display in front of her eyes. She was already used to how lovely this view and the ocean mist flowing in the wind were. She walks beyond her backyard fence and sits down on the cliffside. She stared off into the horizon, focusing on the borderline to keep herself from the verge of being entangled in confusing thoughts in her head. Thirty minutes pass by, and things remain the same for her.
A ticking sound runs over and over within her head, until she spots something—a fishing boat.
She recalls a word a security officer mentioned last night.
““Why don’t you go fishing?””
She decided to get up and pack a small tote bag, filled with a notebook and a water bottle.
The walk from her house to the port is around 20 minutes downhill, so it shouldn’t be a problem.
On her way, she greeted a neighbor on the side of the hill and some kids walking back and forth from their house to the playground by the beach. Although she felt uneasy about continuing the conversation, she managed to end it on a good note without leaving the other person with a skeptical feeling. Finally, she reached the port after being lost in the conversation on the street and missing the U-turn sign.
A fisherman slept in front of the small shop on the wooden street, where people usually come by early in the morning to buy fish. The woman approaches him cautiously.
”Excuse me, sir…”
”Wo wo wo, who the heck wakes me up?”
