High Tide - Low Tide

A light rain fell on the town in the cold, grey light of the early morning.
Another day slowly dawned. It dawned on the still slumbering masses, safe in their beds. It dawned on the early rising milkmen, huddled against the cold in their milk vans. It dawned on the birds in the trees planted along the riverside as the driving force of nature brought the first notes of the dawn chorus to their throats. It even dawned on the still form of James Fletcher but he could not appreciate the start of the new day nor the singing of the nearby birds to herald the dawn. For just when James had thought that his life could not get any worse as he had wandered his way miserably back home, he was proved wrong.

The water lapped gently against the sides of his body. His middle-aged face looked calm and peaceful, its lines somehow softened, smoothed of care and worry. James seemed to be sleeping, but the blue tinge of his lips suggested that it would be a very long sleep indeed.

A figure sat on the riverbank quietly regarding the body lying amongst the mud and rocks and water. He hugged his knees tighter to his chest and, sighing, started to rock back and forth gently. Neither the rain nor the chill of the morning seemed to worry him as he watched the water slowly start to fill the river again nor did he make any move as a tall, dark-haired man in a long black coat stepped up behind him. Without turning, he raised his arm and gestured towards the body in the river.

"What a pointless way to die," he said his voice flat and devoid of emotion.
If the tall man had heard him, he made no indication. He simply stood staring impassively out across the river, watching the sun start it's weary climb into the sky.

"He was attacked by a gang of kids, you know," said the sitting man as he continued to rock slowly back and forth. "A gang of kids. Not much older than school age."

The tall man inclined his head towards the voice but remained silent.
"They got angry when they found out he had no money on him and threw him into the river." The sitting figure shifted his gaze to a rather shabby, leather object floating in the slowly rising water, next to James' body. "And his wallet," he whispered and sighed deeply.

He lowered his chin to rest on his knees.
"I guess they didn't know it was low tide," he said quietly.
His gaze returned to the body which was now starting to move in the current of the water refilling the river. He watched it thoughtfully. After a few moments the corners of his mouth started to twitch and he tried to suppress a smirk. He turned his attention to his silent companion in an attempt to regain his composure but this did not help and, if anything, seemed to make it worse.
The smirk became a smile; the smile became a manic grin, the grin a giggle and then finally deep throated laughter-the laughter of someone who has finally got the joke.
He toppled over backwards onto the damp grass clutching his sides, doubled over with silent mirth.
The tall man watched him, speechless and without emotion. His dark hair waved slightly in the light breeze, seemingly untouched by the drizzle.
After a while the laughing man stopped and slowly uncurled himself to lay full length on the cool, damp grass.
"That's the story of his life, I'm afraid”, he said softly. "Low tide."
The tall figure regarded him quizzically.
"A nobody, killed for nothing in an empty river. I suppose he broke his neck in the fall," sighed the prone figure, slowly running his fingers through the blades of grass. "A pointless death for a pointless man with no purpose to his pointless life. I mean what a way to die. Some people die heroically. Their deaths make a difference to other. You know, saving lives or protecting people. But who will mourn for him? No wife, no lover, no children, no family." He shook his head. "Quite frankly, who would notice, who would care if he had never been? Who would care?"
The tall man seemed to consider this for a moment, a long drawn-out moment, and when he finally spoke, in a voice the man lying on the grass more felt than heard, it seemed like the only noise in the universe.

The passing of one, touches and changes the lives of all those whom they meet.
The figure on the grass lay quietly for long minutes.
"But he accomplished nothing," he remarked eventually. "He will be remembered for nothing. Who will remember him or even speak his name in a hundred years time?"
The tall, dark man shook his head slowly and spoke again.
“A name matters little in the universal scale of things”, he said. “And even if no-one does remember, the actions of the life have already influenced those met and, in turn those they meet, and so on. An expanding ripple on the lake of existence. Some ripples may appear larger than others but all will reach the edge of the lake eventually, no matter how imperceptible they have become.”
The man on the grass sat up and stared at the dark figure.
"You mean he did leave his mark on the world?" he enquired earnestly.
Yes, nodded the tall, dark man. But why do you keep referring to "he" and "him"?
The man sitting on the grass thought about this for a moment.
"I don't know," he shrugged finally. "I suppose it helps me to deal with the situation better."
He turned back to the body floating quietly in the rising water.
"Poor James Fletcher," he sighed. He seemed to think for a moment. "I mean, poor me."

Life is just a cycle of birth, death and rebirth, said the tall man.
He briefly inclined his head towards the water and his pale features seemed to soften slightly.
Like the tides, he whispered. The tall man straightened up.
“JAMES FLETCHER”, he called out.
The spirit of James Fletcher stood up from where he had been sitting on the grass watching his own body, bobbing gently in the rising tide.

“Your time is over but a new tide will arise”, declared Death.
James’ spirit nodded to Death. "Thank you. I'm ready now."
Death smiled slightly and reached. A scythe with a blade like a sliver of night appeared in his pale hands and, nodding to James, he swung it in a lazy arc.

The spirit of James Fletcher stepped forward to meet his destiny, and behind him the tide continued to rise...