No clouds at all. The soft waves masked a riptide, and there were no swimmers. Even the morning’s shell seekers had retreated from the midday heat, and white sand ran into green ocean ran into blue sky in uninterrupted succession.
On the balcony, James sipped his iced tea. The ceiling fan whipped in circles without stirring the air down by the table. “I haven’t seen it this tranquil in a long time.”
Melinda nodded, but she didn’t speak. She watched the condensation weep down the side of her glass.
“There will be others,” James said.
Again, she nodded without saying anything, still watching the droplets zigzag down to eventually collect in a puddle around the base. In the distance, a white speck pierced the horizon, grew into the shape of a fishing boat, then drifted out of view, heading in the direction of the docks.
Melinda picked up her glass, but not to drink. She wiped the water off the table and put the tea back down untouched. She looked at the place where the ship had vanished, but nothing else emerged from the cove.
James looked there too, for a little while, but then returned his eyes to the tea. He used one finger to stir the ice around, and the clinking cubes cut into the balcony’s silence. He stopped stirring.
“I suppose everything ends, doesn’t it?” he said.
“I suppose so,” Melinda answered, and at last she took a drink from her glass.
This is the first time I’ve put fiction on my blog, and I’m linking up with the folks over at Trifecta who use the rule of 3. Stories must be between 33 and 333 words and must be based on Merriam Webster’s third definition of a chosen word. Sound pretty obscure? That’s just exactly why I like it.
Anyway, when commenting on my fiction, please know that I welcome constructive criticism. I’ve got a thick skin. I like the chance to resolve things that aren’t working.
Jessie Powell is the Jester Queen. She likes to tell you about her dog, her kids, her fiction, and her blog, but not necessarily in that order.