The sun is torching the coast. The sky, a checker board of vapour trails, glazes the sea green, turquoise, azure. The sea spreading white on the yellow mustard sand. Young again for an instant, salt on my tongue, sand between divided toes, I walk the tightrope of the sea’s fluid edge.
At its heart the sea is beautiful and aloof, harsh and capricious. But, on this gentle sandy slope, it whispers. A breath like my own. It is here that the sea has its game with me. And laughs as it laps where I walk. The rule is, the rule has to be, that its flowing lace trails cannot touch me.
At first it teases - I do not care if I catch you. But, though I am watchful, I know that I want its embrace. And when the swell breaks quickly and coolly over my naked skin, a too brief thrill surges to my brain. A sweet instant defeat. A fall most welcome.
The light greys as I turn and walk towards the dunes, the town, home. Casting my eyes back, the sea is distant and forbidding. A pleasure spent. Unredeemable.
You, of course, are the sea.
FlashFlood is brought to you by National Flash-Fiction Day UK, happening this year on 27th June 2015.
In the build up to the day we have now launched our Micro-Fiction Competition (stories up to 100 words) and also our annual Anthology (stories up to 500 words). So if you have enjoyed FlashFlood, why not send us your stories?More information about these and the Day itself available at nationalflashfictionday.co.uk.
Great use of evocative language. Ambiguity in the ending - as always, John!ReplyDelete