A sparse piece of prosetry© for Jane Dougherty’s Microfiction Challenge #18: Lost. Sorry Jane, but there was a drowning – I couldn’t seem to get past the positionings of the figures.
All things wash ashore. Seaweed. Sea shells and sea glass.
Ameta and her brothers walked the cliffs, eyes cast down to the rocky, savage beaches.
Storm angered breakers crashed, oblivating the sky and shore.
Pasquare’s boat found smashed in the cove. Sail like strips of kelp. Hull like bones of ancient whales.
Ameta wrapped herself in hope, and called his name.
All things wash ashore. Flotsam. Jetsam.
Ameta and the wind scoured beaches. Her voice pushed back into her throat.
Pasquare – her lover, her friend, her life. He could not be gone.
Her brothers could not console her, nor keep her from the cliffs and breakers.
All things wash ashore. Freed buoys. Broken nets. Battered traps. Pasquare.
© my frilly freudian slip, 2016