Drunk, high, and already starting to feel hungover, the festival had come to an end at the least proper time; with all her friends AWOL, or, at least, out of her field of vision, Sam was left at the lakefront, perched on a stone in the middle of sloshy sand-mud; she was just lucky enough to have her umbrella with her, a ridiculously large object of clear latex, not obscuring anyone’s view of her. And that left Sam stranded, a purse, a blanket, and a coat tucked tightly under her arm. Hell would freeze over before she let any of them touch the ground. It was only a matter of time before her legs gave out.
“Fucking Christ...” she mumbled, looking around the area. People were scattering, stands were descending at a rapid pace, and not a single soul seemed to stare over at the water’s edge where she stood. There might as well have been a raid; she’d seen house parties dissipate more slowly when they got busted. The water, despite the torrential downpour, remained rather calm. Gentle waves, not a single white peak. The main disturbance was the debris; a plethora of beer bottles and Dixie plates, and...
Something far larger floated in the water, obscured in the darkness; at first glance, it wasn’t anything, just another mass in the water among the trash left behind. But nothing was there to distract from the outline of limbs, spread open, practically in the prime position for a crucifixion. Hair matted down, a helmet on the scalp, waves rolling over. She stared in awe, her face falling from a grimace of annoyance as what little color was there faded to white. And against all better instincts, and everything she normally considered sacred, she ran.
The pier wasn’t that far away; a hop, skip and a jump from the rock she stood on, items still in tow, she found herself stomping over the wooden boards, rain finally creeping up under her massive shelter as she bolted to the end, dropping to her knees. She needed to know, that the sight wasn’t a crossfaded hallucination from the shit she’d done already too much of that night. Floating before her, bobbing up and down not four feet from the pier’s end, the body was very much real, and very much what it seemed.
And with every ounce of drunken energy in her, no idea if it was in fear, in shock, or merely to bring attention, she screamed.
