The last two weeks of my life are a blur. Flickering in my mind like a black and white cine film. I am running. Travelling at night under the cloak of darkness. Slithering out of the United States, escaping from the injustice thrust upon me.
Seduced by the rush of the incoming tide, I walk towards the shimmering haze where the cool Atlantic Ocean meets the sun-drenched shore. My pace quickens, the hot sand burns the soles of my feet.
The sun, high in the azure blue sky, heats my tanned and tingling skin as I walk slowly along the water’s edge. The powder puff clouds drift slowly by on the velvet breeze, its feathery touch fluttering against my face.
I was so cold and my heart felt like a bird trapped inside my chest. My head hurt and something warm trickled from my forehead, over my eyes, down my cheeks and on to my lips. I licked them and they tasted salty. A strong, pungent metallic smell, which I couldn’t instantly identify, drifted up my nostrils.
The One is a 1454 word short story about a woman whose previous partner left her for another woman but finds happiness with Jack, who loves her unconditionally.
My Writers Group are convinced I am suffering from some sort of Mother Complex. Maybe I am but one does tend to write about the things they are familiar with.
Christmas has always made me think of the beach and palm trees. Even as a child I used to fantasise about escaping to a deserted beach.