Less
More
Archive for the 'Issue 1.13' Category
(3 votes, average: 4.33 out of 5)
Loading …Water rushed up the beach sand, the eternally shifting tide making it’s way inland once more. The foamy flow spilled onto Kate’s hair, and another wave surged enough to splash her face. The ebb and flow of the water stirred her to consciousness, waking her to a world of pain.
She instinctively screamed, and got a mouthful of ocean water for her trouble. The pain from her legs, more accurately her kneecaps, throbbed and burned like fire. The endless intensity threatened to send her back into nothingness, but passing out now, with the tide coming in so quickly meant death. The gritty sand gave way many times as she tried to prop herself up with her arms, to at least draw one full breath.
Blinking away the salty water from her eyes, Kate could see it was nighttime, no moon in the overhead bejeweled sky. The fierce wind blew so loudly her screams were lost in them, and the strong pungent smell of the ocean flooded her nose. Her mind presented many questions, but the pain overrode all logic. Her legs were broken, at least her kneecaps were. She had never felt such pain before.
Clawing the wet earth, Kate worked herself around, and began to move up the beach. Flipping onto her stomach, without the use of her legs, was difficult and painful. The added weight to her knees sent new flares of pain all through her body. Despite all that, her mind told her something key, she knew this place. This beach was actually not that far from her home, the last place she remembered. The juxtaposition of high rock face abutting the small beaches at first made them undesirable properties. However, once the remainder of private beachfront was scooped up, even these irregular coast lines helped real estate agents like Kate turn a small fortune but selling to the Hollywood and Business elite.
(6 votes, average: 3.5 out of 5) Loading …I know this place. I’ve been here before.
cliffs cut and sculpted
time and sea and air
lone yucca stalk stands
sentinel over the staircase, the ocean
metal railings were not so much buried
by wasting dunes;
drainage pipes were not so exposed
oxidized
and the sign
its message obstructed now, obliterated
in water and salt
My feet register the smooth fineness of sand.
all the potential for glass blown
against damp skin
mist mixes with drying salt
roughened soles make clean thwup
footfalls occasional stones
fine, skipping grade stones
flat and waiting
The children see.
The adult gaze is drawn to the water.
hypnotized by whalesong traversing
air improbable, calling,
seeking, still
oceanic travelers make glassy footprints
skin of water
their song cloaks me perhaps
adults see only slow, wet roll
of skin, slow wide salute
of tail; perhaps
they hear the rushing whoosh
of blowholes
seconds after
The children watch my emergence.
sonar wielding giants
graceful in their weight
buoy
this exposed Jonah
(1 votes, average: 4 out of 5) Loading …“Where are they going?” I ask the man next to me. He had won the chess game, but each piece he lost stood for a child that would die in my bus accident. He told me he had never lost a game, and watching his skill as he played, I knew he would do the best he could to save the children.
The other man, the Japanese guy who had been driving the car that caused the accident, didn’t know about the arrangement, so he just played his best to win.
As each piece was lost to the foreign driver, a child would walk into the area, and stand around the picnic table to watch the proceedings. They knew each other, had been on the bus together, and probably wondered what was going on. I wanted to tell them, but was forbidden by a kick under the picnic table from my champion.
When the game ended, as if on queue, all the children followed the Japanese man out of the area, through an opening in the bushes. I stand and start after them, not sure what is supposed to happen next.
I turn around to repeat my question, annoyed at the lack of response, but the chess player is gone. The picnic table is gone, and so is everything else that was here in the park. Where is everyone?
The bushes surround me on all sides, but I no longer see any openings. I can see the trees just behind the bushes, and what looks like a deep forest beyond that. No one else around. I don’t know where I am. What is going on? I was driving the bus, and then… oh my gosh, the accident. The children in the bus, the bus flipping over into the creek.
How many did I lose?
(3 votes, average: 3.67 out of 5) Loading …Emmett Wilson wheeled onto the view platform and expertly turned his chair sideways to get as close as he could to the edge. He propped his elbow on the smooth fence railing and tipped his straw hat down to better shade his eyes from the sun. There wasn’t a cloud to be seen in the sky, and a brisk, cool breeze toyed with the brim of his hat, threatening to carry it off into the air along with the salt and the tangy smell of the sea. Emmett smiled, and breathed deeply. Today was his 80th birthday, and he could think of no better place in which to spend it. His daughter walked up behind him, placing her hands on his shoulders and giving them a slight squeeze. “Mark and Jeff are going to go down to walk on the beach for a bit.” she said softly. Emmett looked at his two grandsons standing at the other side of the platform. They waved at him and started to bound down the stairs that meandered down the face of the cliff. He patted the hand that rested gently on his left shoulder.
“They are fine young men.” he said. He didn’t need to turn around to know that his daughter was smiling.
“Will you be okay by yourself here for awhile?” she asked. “I’d like to walk down the cliff trail a bit to get some pictures.” Mary was a professional photographer; she’d made a fine living for herself and her two sons with her skills behind the lens.
“I’ll be fine, just fine.”
Mary’s hands squeezed his shoulders again and then she was gone. His two grandsons had reached the bottom of the stairs now. It was probably only 100 feet down to the beach, but it could have been as far down as the Grand Canyon floor as far as Emmett was concerned. He would have given anything to be down there, laughing and tossing the football with the boys, feeling the sand squish between his toes.
(3 votes, average: 3 out of 5) Loading …My mother always told me, when I was a child, never to talk to strangers. She never told me what age I would be allowed to start.
I mean, she also told me to never cross the street. I think the statute of limitations is up on that one. She told me not to cross my eyes, or they would get stuck that way, she told me not to smoke drugs, and to go to a policeman if I got in trouble. I’ve ignored her, to no great injury, on the first two, and I only wish I could follow her wishes on the last one.
Other homespun bits of wisdom of my mother’s floated through my head; chew with your mouth closed, don’t put your elbows on the table, you are what you eat. I laughed, incongruously, startling Beth. Sparks from the bonfire rocketed towards the stars, making her eyes dance. She turned to me, and said, “What are you laughing at?”
This night had started off normally enough. I had woken on the motel’s industrial strength carpet at noon, tangled in the crappy motel-thin blanket I had pulled over myself. On the bed, my buddy Trav had lay, shivering in the full blast of the window AC unit that we had cranked to drown out the blares of car horns from the nearby state route. From the bathroom came the groans of a straining Carl. As I lay blinking away the crusted eyes of a six-pack sleep, he strolled out into the bedroom, grinning widely. “Dude. Do me a favor. Don’t go in there for a while.”
We had hit the beach by one, running down the flight of stairs down the cliff overlooking the beach, three guys- men, really, cruising for the hot chicks that we felt were our due. We played a little Frisbee, we laughed too loudly and let our errant shots land near some likely looking beach bunnies. Nothing. In a break around two, lounging on the motel’s bath towels, Carl telling Trav that it was high time he took off his class ring. “Dude, only high schoolers wear those. And dude, we are no longer high schoolers, dude!”
Subscribe to 52stories by e-mail
Recent Comments