The sun dripped, honey-gold, into the waves, as Bess wrapped her arms around her knees, and turned her face away from the city’s light.
“You should use it,” her boyfriend’s ghost said. His hand passed ineffectually through the old, fish-shaped key in the sand.
Bess ignored him, and the crumbling arch behind.
“Aren’t you at least curious?”
“I’m a concert pianist, Luke, not a tripper.” She eyed him meaningfully. “Besides, you came back a vegetable.”
Remembered pleasures flashed through his hyaline eyes. “But Bess,” he said, “theworlds…”
The sun winked out, and the arch began to glow.
(Written for The Prediction. Challenge words: arch, piano, vegetate)