A teenager bursts from the sea: pulsing feelings, blood rushing; abandoning her stupid little sister who knows nothing; hopes the waves will swallow her, whale-like; strides over sand; tosses her gaze towards the handsome lifeguard, sees him rise and run –
A woman lifts her eyes mid-sentence, blood rushing, hearing cries: her water babies, now only half children and still she can’t finish a book; sees her eldest waving, calling, Mum! Bolts forwards –
A girl rides the wave: surging fearless, blood rushing, clinging to her paddleboard, swallowing sea, cycling legs, salt-shaken, gasping - lifts her face, exhales a waterspout: whale-like, glorious.
Liv Norman is a writer of short fiction and lives in Surrey with her husband and three children. Flash and micro fiction credits in Splonk, NFFD Anthology, Paragraph Planet; nominee Best Microfictions 2024
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