He was walking down the pier while the cold rain fell on his shoulders as he splashed his feet in the occasional few puddles that had accumulated in the small but many depressions of the wood. The shops of a variety of types from candy stores to the pier workshops were all shut, with their striped colors blowing wildly in the strong gale that carried the salty fragrance of the ocean.
The light poles were being battered with the sea spray continuously to such an extent that they seemed like made of warped copper that would break any instant. The wooden railing of the walkway hadn’t been maintained very well and had deteriorated to its life’s end. The nails stuck out at places from beneath the wooden planks that made the floor of the walkway and had caught greenish rust while the wood itself had remained wet for every second of its life was now squeaking with every step.
The main attractions and the rides had all been shut down many years ago because they were now deemed dangerous by the authorities for the public. The main revenue generator for the park was now declared obsolete and unsafe, leading to the pier’s closing last year. Now with no one to take care of it, it had gradually been reduced to an overpriced junkyard which was still being stripped of its worth.
His overcoat had been turned all the way up to his ears, concealing his face to anyone who saw him from the side, his waterproof hat sheltered him from the incessant shower above and his formal black shoes clacked against the wood as he continued to hide his face from everyone. He carried a walkman in one of his pockets and was listening to creeping death under his peculiar hat. He gave off a vibe off similar to that of a person who didn’t want to be disturbed and not to be messed with.
The mere aura of him rattled even the most vicious people to their bone. His name meant death itself and no one wanted to mess with him because no one wanted to die. The aura was almost like that of a worshipper to his or her god. It was very perilous to even mention his name in a local pub or even on the street because he had his hands and ears everywhere and if he heard something he didn’t like then he would simply crush the person worse than one could inflict pain to an ant. He demanded respect and got it in plenty.
His timekeeper hung from the pocket in his overcoat and kept dangling as he moved. The drops covered the face and had gold-colored rims that had been chipped off at places, revealing its age. It had grown cold to the touch and hung by a similar colored loop chain but remained true to its purpose.
He carried a briefcase filled to the brim in his right hand whose leather had faded after years of use. The straps were firm and had molded to the shape of his hand after endearing the constant force of gravity pulling its contents down. The zippers had white granules on them, showing the use of wax to make it run smoothly with the familiar zip sound. It was certainly a very old case but dutiful nonetheless.
The night enveloped the whole sky and the grey clouds gave a little lightness to the black canvas, the rain blew with the chilly winds while the waves crashed against the wet rocks below producing that thundering sound that vibrated the walkway. As he neared the end he checked his timekeeper which shouted morning to him. Ahead of him were the in-built barricades at the end of the walkway.
He took out his walkman carefully so as to not wet it and paused the song, took off the slim and frail headphones, and wrapped them around his neck. He took a moment to let the feeling of the moment sink in and with a sigh, he swung his arm and let go of the bag. It took a few seconds for him to hear the faint splash of the case into the water but he waited to hear the pleasant sound.
The feeling of satisfaction of a job well done washed him away into the depths of his thoughts, into his world where he controlled everything that went on. Not one thing went unless he gave approval. A total state of absolute monarchy. More like a dictator though as he re-imagined the world with him at its center, as ptelomus had thought with his version of the solar system conferring with the ideals of the orthodox church. Such a world was still a dream away for him. A lot had to still be accomplished and a lot had still to be set.
He pressed play on the walkman and suddenly again his world filled with rich metal music. The overall personality of him was hardcore. He did whatever he did with full passion and focus and mastered whatever he touched at any cost. He didn’t mind spending thousands of his own money on learning how a trivial thing such as designing a door or even learning the way to manufacture socks. Money was not an object to him. He was certainly powerful and that hunger when you come from nothing and have nothing drove him to where he was now.
He turned around with a whiff of the salty air and a flick of his coat-tail. The wood still screamed under his weight but he was too busy drowning in his music. He looked at the dilapidated rides and the shut rusted shops that lay in front of him. The tables and chairs either had been covered or left for nature to fiddle with.
The ferocity of the winds increased and pushed the man towards the center of the pier and away from the walkway. He smirked under the shade of his hat. That was power.
