Ribbons crusted with salt and lfluttering like broken bird's wings.
Her dress is soaked and salt stained, cold with wind and
clinging to the line of muscle in her legs and the ridges of her ribs. There is
a bruise on her head, just above her right temple, purple and green but fading.
She lifts her hand to her head and gingerly feels the bump. There is a wisp of
a memory, striking her head on something sharp, but it is gone with the next
wave that ebbs onto the shore. The sand is cold and grainy, wet and heavy
beneath her feet, already in between her toes.
Art by Bridgette Williams
Text by Lucie MacAulay
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