SHADOW WATCHER
by
Virginia Jean Gow
Ever walked along the boardwalk from the ferry wharf at Manly, traveling east, gazing at the long shadows cast by the afternoon sun?
Rob watched his shadow walk, in large, black bubble sneakers, and thought he walked like Charlie Chaplin.
On this eventful afternoon, the tide was particularly high.
Floating in it were all sorts of plastic rubbish, a blue milk carton, a red bread tray.
There were bits of bark and a sculptured lump from a tree.
The sea would have been rough and scary earlier, surging up against the seawall.
Allowing it to be dictated to by the August winds, the wash had hurled itself against boats and sand, spilling over onto grass, dragging debris from the shoreline into its depths.
Covered in bark and seaweed, black long fizzy hair was barely visible to the onlooker on shore.
As Rob concentrated on the lump covered in slime from the sea, he now saw, between each wave motion, more of the gruesome human relic that was being washed ashore.
Like a fish gasping for air, the mouth gaped open, but even from the wall he could tell that the eyes, glassed and dull, had ceased seeing anything.
Still the body appeared fresh, like a doll someone had accidently dropped overboard on the last Manly ferry crossing.
Now here is something he did not see everyday, a freshly minted corpse. He grasped his mobile and called 000. This was way out of his league.
