Friday Fictioneers is here! My favorite midweek distraction. If you interested check out Rochelle’s website for instructions. But be forewarned, it’s addictive.
Mad Dogs and Englishmen
Survivor’s guilt they called it, whatever that’s supposed to mean. Each morning I walk the deserted beach, feel the sand spread between my toes, a cool breeze on my visage. I strip and dive into the sweet salty brine, folding into myself, slipping deeper, water washing over my bare skin, bald as the day I was born, baptized anew.
Starring at the little shack before me I freeze. Memories flood. Time stops. Surely it’s a hallucination, residual effect from treatment- How else could the cabin where we whispered our vows appear before me on the opposite side of the globe?
Word Count: 100
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P.S. Please make sure to read the others.
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