Sunday, 21 March 2010

97. Undertow

Her eyes were cold , grey and beautiful as the iron sea by his home. Looking into them, he remembered standing on cold beaches, watching the surf for hours, scoffing at scuffed metal signs warning of rip tides and dangerous undercurrents.

Why fight it? He felt like a harpoon had come out of the spray and plunged deep into his heart, pulling him in, the sound of sirens in his ears. He could barely keep his head above water. He gave himself up to the undertow.

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