This is something that has come of NaNoWriMo. Instead of (making an attempt at) writing a novel I attempted to write several small to medium shorts everyday. This is just an idea I'm toying with and will probably work into something else, most likely a poem. It's not anything special and it's certainly not postworthy here by my usual standards, however, it's light-hearted and I needed a break from being too serious and trying in my writing. Thoughts on a postcard.

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You stare at the man in the mirror and he seems familiar somehow; somebody you might have seen in the eternal sunshine of some coastal town, treading the boardwalk alone while ferris wheels spun their infinite cycles of tourists who knew nothing of its grim history.

'Did I see you in such a coastal town?' you half murmur to yourself. 'Gazing broadly out to sea with the boats jetting calmly on the deep blue horizon?'

The man smiles sadly. 'Why, yes. I'm almost certain you did. Though it could well have been somebody who just...looks like you. You know, everybody seems to look like you these days.'

He pauses. 'Especially in that coastal town with the ferris wheel, spinning forever, spinning endlessly.'

'I'm almost certain it was I,' you reply. 'That saw you so many years ago, dressed in that peaked hat, a seamless brown overcoat and the tortoiseshell rimmed glasses. Yes, I remember it well. You were there one moment and then you were not.'

The man begins to pace the mirror's view behind you, looking awkwardly out of the window.

'Tell me,' you persist. 'Where is it that you went all those years ago when you suddenly departed from view?'

'Gosh,' replies the man quietly after a short silence. 'I can barely remember. As you say, it was many years ago. I could almost be certain that I paced past the ferris wheel, along the broad of the pier and down onto the beach where I sat for some time, listening to the pointed refrains of those cheeky lads of the souvenir stall. And after that...'

He trails off into silence. You curiously attempt to stitch together this story. After all, who knows when next you might glance into a mirror after times long by and see a stranger staring back at you from its fathomless depths, a stranger that you can question of actions, motives and other such things?

'I was facing the broad of the pier the entire time as I remember it,' you venture. 'Surely...I would have seen you walking down it? Surely you would not have disappeared from view so soon?'

'Ah,' counters the man fairly quickly. 'But you weren't. I'm rather certain that you gazed out to sea, somewhat dreamily if I may be so bold. I remember so because I followed your gaze for a moment because the nature of your eyes intruiged me so.'

'And what was I looking at?'

The man begins his slow pacing again. 'Oh, it was one thing or another. A boat, a bird, a bathing beauty. Perhaps nothing and perhaps everything. I could not quite make out any one thing that you seemed to find so fascinating, such was the nature of your eyes.'

You nod gently, trusting the man's words. 'And do you suppose it was at that moment that you slipped from my gaze, down the broad of the pier and onto the beach where you sat for some time?'

'I would suppose so,' shrugged the man. 'You know, it certainly seemed like the whole world could have escaped you at that moment and you would have been none the wiser.'

There is another thoughtful silence between the two of you.

'Well,' says the man. 'I had best be on my way.'

'So soon?' you almost lament.

'As soon as it was so long ago, yes.' he smiles. 'It would be only fitting.'

You frown. 'Then you'll not return?'

'I would not expect me back, no.'

'That surely is a shame,' you sigh. 'I'd have liked to known you a little more.'

The man's smile becomes broader. 'Do you know, I expect I would say the exact same thing and I expect I will, many years from now if ever I should glance into a mirror of times long by and catch a stranger in its fathomless depths, a little moment of time returned to me in such a primitive fashion.'

'A little moment in time...' you echo. 'Yes, I would agree.'

'I expect, like you, I'd like to get to know him better just as he slipped away from me just as the mirror began to cloud.'

'Yes,' you say. 'It's something of a shame.'

'It certainly is,' replies the man, tipping his hat. 'But I suppose had you never lifted your gaze from the broads of that pier in that coastal town so many years ago, I may never have walked it at all.'

He strokes his chin. 'Hmm. Imagine that.'

And with that, the man from the coastal town, with that grim ferris wheel, from so many years ago disappears for good.