No Rest

By degrees, it becomes easier. To accept ones fate is not an impossibility but, rather, a process of acceptance, to finally give in to the fact that there is a story above and beyond your own, that the wheels of fate move in imponderable fashion to a rhythm beyond the ken of a mere man. And, when you finally give in and allow that fact to sweep through you, the letting go becomes easy, a weight lifts. So it was, with a light step that I made my way through the predawn light, past that dreaded church and its blasphemous steeple and walked quietly towards Tarnmouth harbour. Although I was acutely aware I was living through my last minutes and each heartbeat was one closer to the end, I went with a skip in my stride, a feeling of impatience to have this done with for all time. My only hope, the IKON, bumped against my hip as it lay nestled in the pocket of my greatcoat, but I did not allow myself the luxury of placing too much stock in this item, its provenance was not entirely clear and its powers dubious. So, I walked.