Coming
It is quiet, and the waves are slowly pulsing on the shore, back and forth, back and forth in an endless rhythm. Dark clouds are gathered, and it is raining hard, very hard. A cloud parts for a second, and a flash of sunlight shows, but a second later it is gone, and the raining continues. It is gloomy, and as a guard tries to light a cigarette, he frowns, sighing as he sticks the soggy cigarette in his pocket. He is not prepared for this weather though he wears appropriate gear. He would rather be at home. It is Christmastime, and at home his daughter is playing Christmas carols, and in the other room his son is playing heavy metal. It is a mixture that the man wonders about, but enjoys nonetheless.
He is on a dock in a harbor for boats, and making sure all is well. This is his harbor, and he does not want anything to be vandalized from it. His cameras are all blocked out from the weather, and now he is watching the docks carefully, tending them. Nobody has come here so far, and for that he is glad. He snuggles up in his jacket and sighs, shaking the water off of it, before sitting down on a wet bench. He is cold and his nose is numb, but he ignores that. What he wants is a cigarette. He glances around, nobody seems to be coming; nobody seems to care. If he sneaked off, he would not be noticed. He thinks about it for a second, fingering the soggy cigarette in his pocket, knowing there was a full box inside a warm dry pocket.
No.
He shakes his head, getting the water off of his head, and then thinks about taking off his glasses. Water is streaming off them making everything indiscernible. He sees abstract images of blurred shore and of boats rocking back and forth, back and forth. The clouds part again, revealing a bit of sun, but the rain pours, and he cannot see anything. He thinks about going home. It is miserable, and he is cold and wet. He does not like it. If he goes home, he can set by the fire and drink hot cocoa while listening to the lovely melody of heavy metal mixed in with Christmas music.
Then he stands, for he hears a baby scream; it seems to be at the end of the dock. He peers down, and walks over quickly, and he looks down, shaking the water off of his glasses. He looks around for the baby.
There is no baby, none that he can see. There is a man. The man is wearing a black suit and a red tie. This suit is blotched with mud, but it doesn’t appear to be wet. In fact, as the guard watches, he sees the rain drops sink into the dry cloth. The rain pelts into the man and every breath of the man makes him shudder; he appears to be in great pain. The guard bends over.
“You see a baby anywhere?” The man opens his eyes, and his fingers twitch. He tries to turn to the guard, but he can’t. He is too weak. The guard continues. “I heard a baby. Do you know where it is?” The man opens his mouth (his lips are hopelessly chapped) and he utters a silent no. “Where did you come from?” the guard asks, realizing that the man cannot speak. The man grunts and tries to move.
The guard is not sure what to do. He could call the police. That would be the logical thing to do. He does not know this man, and the man appears to be hurt. If he called the police, they could call an ambulance and everything would be all right. He would never have to deal with this again. “What is your name?”
“Manuel.” The man’s voice is dry and raspy with a slight accent that the guard cannot place.
“Mine’s Robert.” The guard pauses and kneels down to the man’s level. “Are you hurt?”
The man whispers no.
“Good, that wouldn’t do, would it?” The guard pauses before grabbing the man’s shoulders and pulling him up. Then the guard holds him, as if the man is standing. The man cannot stand, his head hangs down and his body is limp. The guard grunts, and then carries the man on his back. Manuel is light, and for that the guard is happy.
He begins to walk, but as he walks Manuel grows heavier. The guard wheezes for breath and wants to set him down, but the guard won’t, and pushes through. It is raining harder, and he could hear thunder in the distance. The path is blurred and his glasses need to be shaken off, but the guard does not falter, and instead he steps stronger, even as he is getting weaker. By the time he gets to his car, he is exhausted. The man is awake, but barely, and he is in pain. The guard numbly sets him down and pants heavily. The man needs medical attention, but there is something about him that the guard cannot place, something that he admires and doesn’t want to lose.
“You’re going to the hospital, Manuel, and I’m going to drive you,” the guard says as he regains his breath. “Do you have a home? A family?”
The man shakes his head.
“Oh.” The guard thinks, looking at this man carefully. “Well, I’ll drive you to the hospital and I’ll leave you my phone number, k?” The man nods dully and the guard smiles. “You’ll be okay, man. Just a little stunned, that’s all. You’ll be out in no time.” The man manages a weak grin. The guard smiles broadly and rubs his shoulders which have begun to throb. He shuts the door on Manuel’s side and climbs in the driver’s seat.
He drives.
This is supposed to be a Christmas story! There is no way I'm going to replace 
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