Disassociative Identity Disorder
This story is about Duncan; it could be about me or you.
He was alone to any passer-by who saw him slowly walking along the shoreline. Hands in pockets and a downcast gaze.
A solitary 37-year-old in a business suit walked ankle-deep in the surf, the loneliest man on earth. He stopped momentarily. The sea breeze ruffled his thinning hair and flapped his blazer. It was late evening. The last person on the beach packed away. The sun had already sunk into the ocean, and the breeze had strengthened to wind.
Except this wasn’t that type of beach. No tourists came here because it was too far out of the way and wasn’t very long compared to other beaches. Half a mile and, at its widest, broader than a highway. Covered with stones. A strand of sand is at the shoreline.
Duncan Burnett looked toward the horizon at the orange, yellow, and red sky, pondering whether or not he should walk towards it or let himself be carried by the tide following the sun’s descent. His purpose was to see if he could follow through. He knew he would never do it. His subconscious had been telling him all along, and now, standing here, he discovered it was true. Despite the solitude and quiet, Duncan had company.
Duncan always had company.
