Sunday, April 17, 2011

He Drowned In Miles of Fiction

The shore never really appeared. Just more horizon. Figures, he thought. If you're going to die, it might as well be hopelessly.

He stopped to tread water, only managing to keep his neck above water, muscles raw and screaming in dead fatigue. If only he could collect his thoughts for just a second, he could think of a way through it.

A wave comes and he's briefly swamped, spitting out the vile salt-tang of sea-life that threatens to steal his own. And another wave comes, and then a third. The muscles are worn out from their screaming - now they offer only quiet failure.

I just needed a second to gather my thoughts, he thinks as his eyes go blank and wide.