Stories

The ocean has more stories than salt.

I don’t know if selkies sung and pulled me in, or if the ringing of bells from long- drowned towers had drawn me too close, or if I’d been dragged down and spat out by some great kraken.

It’s morning, there’s sand in my mouth, my clothes are soaked. Behind me the ocean is hissing. I’m not just late for work, I’m in the wrong county.

I climb out from the reach of the waves, still drunk, salt drying on my skin; I don’t know how to make sure this doesn’t happen again.

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