It seems as if I've been waiting for her forever. All my life, really, which is all the forever I know. I know what she'll look like: tall, slim blonde hair, white silk rustling like leaves. Her scent will be salt and air, blowing a sea-smell to engulf me. Her name will be Death. I've been near the ocean five years now, tending a lighthouse that doesn't really need tending. Walking the beach by day, looking for some sign of her. Waiting for a song of sea breeze at night to know she's coming. Coming to take me away. I admit to some loneliness; the last supply ship was how long ago? The headline from the "latest" newspaper says "Wilson Elected President." Four months, maybe longer. When will they be back? And what will they find? An old man huddled around a fire staring off at the horizon? Or will they find me gone? Gone with that vision that has haunted all of my days. That smell...what is it...ah green salt...take me TAKE ME...
"What do you think, Sir?"
"Dead, not more than an hour. Lungs full of water. Drowned apparently."
"No, Sir. I mean the saltwater; he's soaked. And the seaweed everywhere. He's three stories above the water..the floor...it's bone dry."
"Probably never know. But at least he went with a smile on his face."