My daughter is wearing a white dress. It resembles a wedding gown. She lies down at the edge of the sea. She shouts towards me. I can't understand what she is saying. The beach empties, night falls outside. Her voice echoes deeper. I still can't make out what she is asking for. Three seagulls fly over the water, fluttering near the shore. I try to walk towards her. Eleni’s brother grabs me by the arm. He squeezes. I shout at him to let me go. He looks me in the eyes and laughs, tightening his grip on the knife. My daughter's voice continues to be heard, this time distorted – it sounds like it’s slipping out of a broken speaker. I look at the sea, I can't find her. The darkness is thick. In the blackness of my eyes, the blade’s gleam is reflected, I pull my head back to avoid it. The knife’s swing cuts the air in two. I push him, we fall down. We struggle. The seagulls fly beside me. Their beaks attack the hand holding the knife. My daughter screams. I manage a punch to his chin. I run to the shore. I lose my breath. I lean on my knees. The dress floats on the water’s surface. From there comes the voice.
I take a breath, I go in. The water is warm, it wets me up to my waist. I approach the dress, stretch out my hand and grab it, it is empty. My daughter keeps shouting for help, I can’t see her. I hold the dress in my hand. I look at my fingers. A red liquid covers my palms. Blood. A red stain on the white worn fabric. Blood. The water now reaches my neck. Blood. Red everywhere. I turn my head to the shore. Eleni’s brother points at me with his finger, laughing. A gunshot. The wall clock showed 04:57. The lamp of the bedside light illuminated what was left of the glass bottle on the floor.