In the gloaming, do you see the darkness or the light?
A tall man with long blond hair looks out to the sea.
Staring, impassive, still, like a statue.
It is cold. Bitter. Is he frozen?
He is upright. Straight. Stiff.
Does he care about the cold? Does he feel it? Does he feel anything?
Blue-eyes deadened. Who is this man? What has he seen? Why is he here?
Every day, the same place. The same stance. How long has he stared?
He stands on the pier in the biting wind.
A second man walks along the pier behind him, towards him.
He is smaller, with jet black hair and a beige mac and leather gloves.
It is dangerously cold.
The smaller man approaches the statuesque figure staring out to sea.
Both gloves are extended towards the tall man. Like he is going to push him.
But each hand is placed gently up on to a shoulder of the taller man.
Hear his voice on the wind.
“Erik, come now.”
Erik remains motionless. Silence, pierced by the gulls.
No movement. It is still. No words. Eventually the tall man turns.
The pair walk away, together, in silence.
*
My name is Bo, Bo Johansen.
I’m a football writer. Actually, I WAS a football writer, now I mainly write fiction.
This story? It’s fact.
What happened to Erik is a true. The bigger they are, the harder they fall.
Why do I look out for him? Well, who else is looking out for him?
All he wanted to do was score goals. And there was nobody better at it.
By the time they broke him, he was known as ‘the man who murdered football’.