Erik had decided it was a beautiful morning.
The sea caressed the beach, as the periwinkle sky stood dazzling and clear above. The long grass leading back inland moved gently with the breeze. Erik smiled to himself; it truly was a marvellous morning.
Normal people called Erik 'homeless', but this wasn't entirely a true observation. Erik had a home, it just wasn't a conventional one.
There was an old fishing boat, that had been beached for some twenty years. Its hull was rusted and decayed; its porthole windows smashed and damaged. It was a mile away from any tourist attraction, so the ship rarely saw visitors. This was Erik's home. It didn't provide warmth in the winter, and there was an overwhelming risk of tetanus, but it had protected Erik while he slept and rested, against the shouting winds of the sea. He would get back late at night, climb up onto its deck, and set down his sleeping bag within the living quarters. It was a haven. It was his home.
Erik had precisely three possessions to his name; an old sleeping bag which he'd owned for nearly five years, a thin meat knife which he'd found in the ship, and a half-empty zippo lighter that he had uncovered in a rubbish bag. Its metal case was turning a foul metallic blue with age. Erik suspected it wasn't particularly expensive.
The beach moved quietly, so not to displease Erik. He sat on the bronze sand in his discoloured T-shirt, brown cargo trousers and boots. He often spent ten minutes in the early hours of the day, just watching the sky grow. He sat silently, of course. Because he was alone, Erik could often go a whole two or three months without talking to anyone. Especially not himself.
It had been a bountiful harvest today. The sky was now grey, as the afternoon winds lashed the coast. Erik put down his black bin bag full of loot, and removed his tattered duffle coat. He produced his meat knife, and sliced open the bin bag. Erik rummaged around in the guts of the bag, and pulled out a piece of toast. It was hard, and the butter had adopted a slimy second skin. Erik wolfed the toast down, only taking a few bites before swallowing. He also discovered a tube of yoghurt, which hadn't been opened. He ripped off the top and slurped down its sweet contents, not allowing himself to miss a single dollop. Erik then searched through the bag again, and found a nearly-finished pasta ready-meal. He devoured the last of the pasta and smiled. Today's dinner had been plentiful.
It would be another two weeks later, when Erik received a visitor.
He jumped down from his boat one morning, and noticed a figure down the beach. He squinted at the black mark in the distance, and slowly walked towards it. The wind tugged at his clothes. No Erik, come back to the boat, the wind whistled in his ear.
Erik soon came to a halt when he realised the figure was a teddy.
The teddy was smiling. It had once been a vibrant green colour, but the weather and the beach had sickened the teddy; turning its fur matted and dark. It would usually be considered normal, except Erik didn't like the way the teddy was looking at him. Its soulless, black eyes stared at Erik in such a cold way that it bothered him.
Erik whispered words of comfort to himself, and took a step closer. The teddy gazed up at him still, with that eerie smile still plastered across it's face.
Go away.
Erik hated the teddy. It hadn't been on the beach earlier, why was it here now? Perhaps it had washed up on the shore while he was in his ship. Nonsense, he thought. This beach led out to open sea. No land out there.
Go away, teddy.
Erik wanted to get rid of this teddy. Was it actually here? Was this teddy a sign that the final threads of Erik's sanity had snapped, and that his mind was falling into oblivion?
No, goddammit. It just washed up on the beach. Steel yourself, Erik.
Erik grabbed the teddy by the neck, and stormed back to the ship. That night, Erik had built a fire and tossed the lifeless stuffed bear into the flames. He felt relief, as the smells of burning plastic and cotton washed over him. When Erik retired to his bed, he slept like a baby.
The next morning, Erik got up. He left the ship, and began his journey along the beach. Then, as if the devil had planned it himself, Erik spotted a black dot head of him, down the beach.
Please. Please, God, no.
Erik sprinted toward the figure, driven by concentrated panic. When he reached the figure, Erik wailed and collapsed to his knees.
There, sitting in the sand in front of him, was a faded lime green bear. Smiling.
GO AWAY.
Erik felt the steely grip of rage close around him. He savagely pounded his fists into the bear. You aren't real you aren't real you aren't real. When his fists couldn't deliver a satisfying amount of damage, Erik pulled out his meat knife and sliced into the teddy. He ripped out chunks of it's chest cavity, covering himself in fluffy white gore. Still, the teddy grinned at him.
Again, like a priest condemning a witch, Erik threw the mutilated teddy onto an unlit fire. He brought out his lighter frantically, wanting to be rid of this teddy once and for all. He ran his thumb down the igniter of the lighter. A spark, but no flame.
PLEASE WORK.
Erik tried six, seven times to create a flame. He screamed, and cast the lighter out to sea, before collapsing in tears. Erik cried hard, mourning the death of his mind. He wished he lived like a normal person now. No more boat. No more fires. No more bin bags. No more teddy.
Erik looked at the teddy with the shredded sternum. It turned it's head to look back at him, smiling all the while.
