Their sails are grey. They billow outward, reaching toward the open sea, rustling fingers rippling along the edges. The sound of their longing, the snapping and creaking and shouts of the crew, fills the hole in my heart like the sweetest music. How long have I waited to see them here, since first I found them in that dusty old book? How long have I wished to escape this pitiful life, tucked between the sea and the sky? And now they rest, rocking gently, on the liquid ground that sprays me with salty kisses.

Gulls cry overhead, waves slap the docks below. A battered trunk sits beside me, my precious few belongings tumbled hurriedly behind those rusted silver locks. I have no strength left to stand. My legs have folded beneath me, warm bare skin pressed against the cold, rough boards. The sea seeps through the cracks, staining my skirt where my knees push against the worn fabric. Faded blue turned dark.

A voice calls out behind me, thorny and ragged. It calls me back, calls me names. The anger tumbles out and wraps around my arms, around my chest, around my neck. Tightens. Tries to drag me back. I have no strength left, but the grey sails take my hands and hold me close. The seaward wind cups my shoulders and urges me forward. I am caught in the middle, tangled black hair whipping wildly about me in this newly born tempest, this torment.

I am a pebble, small and hard and round. I am a pebble in a storm. The voice is my storm, with his blows and strikes and torrents. If I am a pebble I am safe, I can withstand the screaming winds. If I am a pebble I might emerge unscathed. But if I am a pebble, I can never stand. I can never fight, never win, never leave. If I am a pebble I will enter the sea and drown.

I have no strength left. My knees have buckled, my shoulders have slumped, my head has fallen. But my eyes still lift to the grey sails, which flutter, mirrored, in the sea of my eyes. A deep, dark, beautiful blue. And suddenly something lights inside me: a tiny, glowing spark deep in my belly. I feel a liquid fire grow from it, spill into my arms, my legs, my heart. It rages so fast and so fierce, I might split apart and shatter into golden pieces. But instead I press my palm against the cold, rough dock, feel the spray and salt with my fingertips. I lift one knee, steady one bare foot against the damp wood, and then the other. I rise, and the voice rises with me. He begins to scream and thrash, grabbing at my arms, my hair, ripping at my tattered clothes. Let him take them, let him rip and claw and tear. They’ll turn to ash in his hands. They’ll turn to ash and scatter and leave him voiceless.

I put one foot in front of the other, my trunk a comforting weight, as my chains burn away.

Their sails are grey. The sea calls to them, to me, and they reach to it. With wild black hair and faded blue skirts, with blood turned to golden fire, I walk steady towards them, I answer. Gulls wheel above me, the sea sprays below. I am no longer a pebble. I am a gull, soaring above dancing water on grey wings.