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The Pier

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Jessie stood barefoot on the pier, feeling the sturdy wooden boards beneath her feet, and inhaling the salty air. Though it was early morning, the pier was already bustling with activity as local fishermen prepared to cast their rods into the open sea. Jessie found it hard to believe that such an old rickety pier could avoid total desertion. She settled herself onto the sole abandoned bench, careful to avoid the many globs of seagull droppings. Liter seemed to be strewn about everywhere; a plastic bottle or two kicked carelessly in a corner or a bundle of papers flapping about lazily in the sea breeze. The pier was nothing new, it had stood there for at least three decades, no one bothering to make the necessary repairs. Simply put, the whole place reeked of neglect. The beaten-down and splintery wooden boards reflected this, with much too many rusty nails sticking out at places. The weathered railing seemed to be collapsing at certain spots, as if waiting for just the right storm before making its final plunge into the sea. The pier wasn't a very tall one, extending maybe six feet above the waterline. Around the crumbling support pillars, blue green waves gently lapped, as if treating the elderly pier with the respect it deserved. On the north end, an abandoned periscope stood, rusting pitifully. It faced the far away horizon, a mixture of blues where sea met sky, with countless little white sails dotting it. As Jessie looked into the horizon and the glowing sun making its ascent along the the gently rolling waves, she knew why this was such a popular spot. Who could resist such a beautiful view, no matter how worn the actual pier seemed in comparison?



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