Micro-fiction competition by Thread LitMag on Threads July 2024.

Dried salt tightens burnt skin on my face, crusted eyelashes crack as tired eyes open.

A fresh sun burns an unfamiliar coastline into focus.

I am cast from the sea’s watery womb, reborn on an endless beach.

Split apart by a searing cannonball, an iron manacle, heavy on my wrist, anchors me to damp, pale sand as a calm lullaby seawater swish chaperones my ebbing limbs.

Timber plank slivers edge the dry sand, under drooping palms and hanging fruit.

Not a soul.

I am free, but alone.

87 Words.

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M.E.Lucas Threads Post

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