Each time Ama drowns, she does not hesitate. The sea chants. Again. Waves smack calves, thighs, shoulders. When sand falls away beneath her feet, she smiles and pushes out further, past yellow buoys one, two, three, four, five. Seals bark from distant rocks. A few deep breaths. Ama opens her arms in supplication, curls into a ball and tumbles downwards. Hurtling below the sun’s reach into murky darkness. Silence floods her ears. City memories flit across the mind’s eye and she pushes them into a mental drawer, slams it shut. Focus. Teeth clinch against a deepening chill. Her lungs protest, she releases bubbles through her nose. Wait. Hold.
Issue 9
SHORT HAUL
Marie Gethins lives in Cork, Ireland and splashes about in the Atlantic on a regular basis. Her work has been selected for BIFFY50 2020, Best Microfictions 2021, and Best Small Fictions 2023. She is an editor of the Irish flash ezine Splonk and critiques for the Oxford Flash Fiction Prize.