IslandWriter

Skirting the shoreline, the tide is coming in. Keeping steady pace, avoiding the exhalations of the sea becomes a game, a challenge. The strip of sand is thin; narrowing, shrinking. Ahead, the path is in flux, being drenched in water before it drains away only to return again. We don't detour, don't take the higher ground. We run. We run as far as we can towards the safety in the distance, the ocean rushing back towards us. We don't make it that far. The water swells. It's higher, faster than we thought it would be. It wets us, traps us; tries to drag us into the sea. We stand firm, on shaky legs. I feel I'm in deep, but you are i