Copyright 1982 Bruce Dinsman
David Best stepped out of his family home at the top of Brown Street. Stretching, he surveyed everything around him. It was a bright spring day. The morning sun had already burned off the light fog coming up from the ocean, and a slight breeze rustled the pines above him. Below him lay his home village of Dahlia. It was a small fishing village, popular in the summer for visiting salmon fishers. For its population, Dahlia looked overly large. It was set up in twenty square blocks, bordered by the Chanute River to the south; where the boats docked, and the wide, blue Pacific to the west. As he gazed over the ocean, David saw a single seagull rise from the beach, wheeling outward with a melancholy cry. That call made his face cloud, as if it had triggered a deep hurt in him.
David left the yard, heading downhill toward Main Street. As he walked, his thoughts tumbled through his head, why am I worried? Valerie is coming home today. I should be jumping for joy. I don’t know… His brooding was interrupted as he heard his name.