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[Gracen]

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Gracen looked up at the forest canopy from the earthen shade of the well-traveled forest near Britain. For a moment – just a short moment – he swore he could smell the brine of the nearby sea. He couldn’t be sure if the smell was a real one. After all, the occasional flash of light could be seen in the direction of the beach as the morning sun glinted off of the rhythmic, gentle waves; it certainly could be real.

There were other times in Gracen’s past when the scent of the ocean would, if only for a moment, breeze past his face. During those moments, when there was no ocean nearby, it was as if a lone zephyr, laden with sea-salt and a briny mist, had traveled such vast distances and survived intact.

The overwhelming sensation that this rogue scent brought was one of imminent change. Gracen now knew this all too well.

The well-swept steps of the community center he had seen constructed made a good seat for his frequent forays into the world of the written word. He was never completely aware of where his ideas had come from. The only real certainty he felt was a deep conviction that, regardless of their origin, they were right.

So he writes, on and on, page after page, unsure that his words will make any difference in the world that he has come to call home. Behind him sits an empty room filled with mail and ballot boxes; any day now it would come to life and people would begin to congregate here. They would laugh and socialize, and perhaps they would even begin to see themselves as Gracen saw them, as capable and responsible people able to make decisions about their own lives.

“Only when man looks at himself and realizes that, when it comes down to it, all that he can rely on is himself will he be able to give others something to rely on.” Gracen finishes writing the sentence and sighs to himself, not sure that anyone will care. He doubts his own ability to convey the meaning of his words to the people, and his heart begins to sink as he feels his impotence. What power does he have? What alone can he do?

And then, a dull roar rises in the north, and the smell of brine is back, stronger than ever before.
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