Gemotions

The setting sun cast long, distorted shadows across the desolate beach. He walked with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, the waves a relentless, rhythmic crash against the shore. The wallet, he'd found it buried in the sand, half-covered by seaweed. The feel of its weight was at odds with the airy silence of the scene.

He hadn't felt the sun on his face in weeks. It was a constant reminder of the world he was now disconnected from. He was stuck in a fog, a landscape of regret. The contents of the wallet, a significant wad of cash, represented a freedom he wasn't sure he deserved.

He sat on a weathered piece of driftwood, staring out at the turbulent water. The salt air stung his nostrils, but did little to clear the confusion that swirled inside him. He remembered a promise. He reached inside his pocket, and found a scrap of paper that he had been toting. He would make good.