It was a cold winter morning, Clay, as usual, had gone to the port to see how the ships left. He had to wake up early to do so, but he never slept much anyway. The nightmares and the pain would wake him up every night until he decided to get out of bed. He would walk, slowly, towards the port, smelling in anticipation the sea salt. The fishermen, passing by his side, greeted him, smiling, some of them, the oldest, even walked with him for some meters, telling him about their plans for the day, about how big their catch was going to be that day.
By sunrise they all would be on their ships while Clay stared at the boats with longing. He wished he were young again, he had two good hands and two good feet. He wished his muscles were still strong and answered to his orders. Yet, that time had past and the was condemned to wait for his death, earthbound.
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