The inspiration:
A story:
He wintered on the porch, watching the angry grey ocean. Summers he retreated into his tiny cottage, trading the view for a book, avoiding the summer people.
Her first summer, she waved at him each time she passed.
The second, he learned to wave back.
He endured that winter, the ocean a distant second to his thoughts of her.
For the first time since he returned from the desert filled with fury and death, summer would not find him hiding in the cottage. He absently reached to scratch an itch on a leg that was no longer there and waited.
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Now, your turn.
[…] Friday Fiction: Smitty/Darleen […]
[…] This story is part of the fascinating “100 Word Challenge” project by Darleen Click over at Protein Wisdom. […]
Looking for dead Syrian babies is so tire[get it] some. I wish a big fleet of suicide dolphins would wash up around here. Dolphins are so cool, but not when they are all flappy and dying on the beach. That is so not cool. I think their body temperature drops. David Bowie used to sing about dolphins in that song ‘Heroes’ but he’s dead’. I wish he’d wash up around here,or some driftwood. Driftwood is nice.
[…] What a depressing story to a simple inspiration. I need a stiff drink right now. Anyone want to join me? Music: “Santa Monica” by […]
i heart otis p too!
p three!
Mr. buttons! I hope you’re enjoying a respite from winter is like springtime here today
I am living in Nicaragua
:) that’s awesome
i’m jealous times a thousand
She let the sand squish between her toes. The warmth of the water was so light on her skin. She kept the hat pulled low — the doctor had told her specifically to cover her now-bald head. “You did well, Marie,” he had said, “you beat this.” She stared at the dappled water, the sunshine making her eyes hurt; she heard the children behind her on the shore, the laughter, the excitement. Oh, to be a child again and not to have borne what she had. But she had, and she was here, and the sand squished between her toes.
don’t wanna hijack thread – i emailed u at h….blah blah 47@ yah-check ur email -got contact info for u
Very well, Heraclitus, these are not the same waters, but much the same and who — Parmenides, perhaps — is to say that in another time I still stand as I am to always stand as I am now, though I will walk as I will always walk out to the still, dry land from where I came, as the ebbing of a greater tide brings all apparent flow to a final halt.
Surf’s Up
Nicaragua?
That’s far enough away.
Almost.
“I told her not to fall asleep while she was drifting on that inner tube.”
“How far out you suppose she’s gone?”
“Lord knows. The tide was just about to go out when she went into the water.”
“Reckon we should go after her?”
“Nah, she’d just get mad. Like we’re not allowed to worry about her because she’s indestructible.”
“Serve her right if a whale swallowed her.”
“Serve the whale right even more.”
The horror stood impossibly tall. Radar estimation gave the coast guard’s lead vessel a figure of around a quarter mile. What forces held it together no one could say but few thought it was normal chemistry. It fought gravity and bested it easily. It stood rigidly in the water. The thing was humanoid. Its analog to a head resembled a mushroom cap. It held an enormous torus that sagged dangerously as though about tot rupture. Whatever its exotic composition It soaked up ambient light, appearing as a dark void in contrast with the sky and ocean. At 2 PM it disappeared.