Waving Not Drowning

The humidity is rising, she feels it in her hair, on her skin. A thickness weighing her down, heavy in her lungs. Sticky air, hard to breathe. The salt on her face- her own, the ocean's- commingling, a different acridity. Stings. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Bitter harsh pointed words. Communication breakdown. The devolution of care. When cross purposes collide old ghosts rise from their graves, decaying, conjured by the inability to acquiesce. Ancient rage wreaking havoc on the living ones they've left behind. Bury your dead, bury them, leave them lie. Incinerate them, blow them up into smithereens, scatter the ashes to sea. The fetid stench of death and anger dragged behind like an anchor mooring them in separate seas. Hurricane's coming and neither has the wherewithal to change course. Seek refuge, find safety, weigh anchor, head for home. Chaos reigns, self preservation at all costs overrides one for all and all for one. The shift is so minute; if either side...

And on the first day of May, Evan decided to turn over a new leaf. He got up early, made his bed, fixed himself breakfast, cleaned out the guinea pig's cage and packed a bag, leaving plenty of food and water and a note for Leslie upstairs. "Hi Leslie, I'll be gone for a while. Not sure when I'll be returning. Thank you for feeding and watering Fred. I've left his food on the counter and money to cover future expenses. The info for the vet is on the fridge. Oh, please help yourself to the leftover cantaloupe and strawberries- they're organic. You won't be able to contact me by cel but I will check my email when possible. Apologies for the short notice but something has come up that needs my immediate attention." And with that, Evan turned off the light above the stove, checked the timer in the living room, washed up his tea mug and plate from his morning toast and grabbed his passport and spare credit card.  No time like the present to activate extra cr...

You'll have to forgive me, I'm easily overwhelmed by the ladies, he says accompanied by a slight shuffle of his sole-worn boots, casually laced, tongues wagging like an overheated hound. It's pause for thought. Something she hadn't even considered, given his reputation. A long, tall drink of water- isn't that the saying? Cool, confident, quietly aloof, a smile for all he greets. That certain  sort of charisma that makes every woman feel special. Like she's the one, the only one who elicits that chemistry, that spark, that heartstopping, vibrating full body connection. He makes her thrum. Until of course the rumours start to swirl. Like a maelstrom, or Thunder Mountain, that nauseating hypnotic carnival ride at the summer fairs, the ones her mother forbade her from attending. Safety first! Piped in '80's hairband hits scream out of the tin can amplifiers as the makeshift bobsleds cycle round repeatedly, past the acne prone, apathetic ride operator too f...