Saturday, May 1, 2010
In Six Sentences (short fiction from The Second Half)
Her mind was a terrible bottomless sea with a strong undertow that slow-laughed at her futile struggles, easily winning an arm-wrestling match with barely an outbreak of sweat on the brow. She kicked and pulled with her best effort - throw him out throw him out throw him out! - but the current had her and wouldn't let go. Conspiring, neither would he; he was determined to stay, just because he could. Then, maybe it was time, maybe it was loss of interest, but quite suddenly it let her go. He floated out with the tide, and she washed up on the sand past the breakers, slimy and gritty with seaweed and broken shells, glancing back at the constant horizon. Empty.