Syracuse

And the sea rolls on and on and on... -Flash Fiction-

And the sea rolls on and on and on and I can hear your song calling to me across the waves and waves and waves. This boat is my coffin, the tides my pallbearers, the seagulls my mourners, and your song my requiem—and there are better, faster, simpler ways to die. I could be swallowed up, and down and down and down, with the merciless weight of the sea on my breastbone and the current throbbing in my ears and sinking and sinking and sinking with your song following me all

          the

     way

down.

And the sea rocks back and forth and back and forth, and the cabin tips and sways and there isn't enough heat in me to stave off the cold undercurrent and its endless endless endless pull.

Your song draws my heart to you like a riptide and it strains against my ribs and ribs and ribs and

the ocean with its belly full of ice drags

          my

     body

back.

And I'd like to come back to you, to feel your liquid heat around me after all this liquid cold. And I'd like it to be your song like the land breeze washing over me at night, and the pull and pull and pull of your heartstrings on my everything, my everything I gave to you and my everything I have and the everything the ocean takes

          away

     from

me.

And the sea rolls on and on and on

and the storm takes your song from me.

The End

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