Runner Up: ‘Might’ by Alex Durac

There were boats, I think. I can’t remember. I remember seeing one or two during the
day, peering through the haze like sleepy, waking eyes. Fuzzy. In my mind they’re like
mirages, covered in clouds and dark sea mist. I’m not really sure how much I’m imagining
them, though. There may have been none at all.

There were definitely birds, although how many I’m not sure. The weather was good.
I think I got burnt a little. Not sure if they were fieldstone or mosaic but they were definitely
one of the two. The walls that is. We walked hip-height by them for about two hours,
stopping every once in a while to tie our shoes. Usually it takes less time to do than that but
we argued a lot that day.

I remember her facing towards me as I faced the ocean. From some other vantage
point we could have been a postcard. I remember how tricky it was because there was
nothing to hang on to, no single distinguishing feature in that entire blue expanse. In my mind
it now exists as a shimmering carpet, stretching off into the distance, but I think that’s
because I just saw Le Compris in the cinema, which had a shot like that at the end.

*

There were hours before at a funfair down in Bray, which we hadn’t known would be
on, but decided to go to anyway. Those kinds of spontaneous things are the best in a
relationship.

We did spinning teapots and maybe other things (definitely not a Ferris wheel, I
would have remembered a Ferris wheel). It was fun but bizarre. Strangely enough, the whole
thing reminded me of the time I found out my father hated funfairs.

It all happened at the Dublin Street Performers Festival some time in the 2000s. I’d
never seen anything like it. The second the ride was over he stumbled off, lurching to the
side, holding his hip like he had a stitch. It still marks the first time where I thought of him as
old. I do that now, of course, but until then I only thought of him as fit, healthy. Part of me
found it hilarious – his face as he turned and said to me: “Alex, I need to sit down.” Funny
and sad at the same time, I guess.

*

At the funfair we sat at a bar and ordered drinks. Played this game we used to like.
We’d pick a hot couple (we used to love deciding which couples were hot) and imagine what
it would be like to send them drinks – like we were in Goodfellas, or something. We played it
for a while and talked about things I can’t remember. I remember looking at this really
beautiful couple a few metres away from us who sat in comfortable silence. Or maybe they
talked. I really don’t know.

I don’t think I couldn’t have loved her any more in those quick moments. They had a
trembling ferocity about them then, always arriving and then going in the most frightening of
ways.

At some point along the way we started arguing. I can’t remember exactly when or
why. It was at a corner, I think – going up. If you had asked me a week after, or even a month,
I could have told you everything; who said what, who responded how, how long each silence
lasted in between our formulating sentences. Details. We’d fought before, but both of us
knew that there hadn’t really been a day like it.

I do remember going home with her that night. I remember how hard it was to fall
asleep beside her; how she was lying there so still, the trembling shame and anger that was
inside me; how it hung and rose above me like the clouds and mist that drifted later on the
sea. I remember her crying there for hours; our cheeks, her skin, were both so damp, and
soaking on the pillow. I remember staring at her back, the ceiling, the wall. They rose much
later in the evening, it seemed, where they floated, fibrous wisps that blocked the figures of
the boats.

About the Author

Alex is a writer from Dublin and is currently living in Berlin. Recently Alex was made a
recipient of the George Moore Scholarship, which will allow him to study Creative Writing at
the University of Melbourne in Australia next year. In February of this year, Alex was the
co-writer on a play which premiered in Smock Alley as part of their Scene and Heard
Festival. Alex is currently working on a collection of short stories. This is his first solo
publication.