Friday Flash Fiction: The edge of the world

4 01 2008

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Blah. Not quite what I was hoping for:

The edge of the world
By Neil Beynon

They say reality is thin here on the edge of the world, on the frontier of the empire. Perhaps that’s what’s happening. Or maybe I’m just finally losing my mind.

She stands, feet casting faint patterns in the sand, staring out to sea at the emerald eye framed in the dark finger of witches point, her fire hair glowing in the mid-afternoon, mid-winter sun. It’s been twenty years since. Yet her skin is still the colour of milk, her lips a smooth natural pink you can almost taste. Her big brown, long lashed, love lashed eyes drinking in the crashing ocean.

It is a perfect moment.

My chest hurts. It aches a lot these days, too many scars. The air smells faintly of salt, wind whips the back of my neck, the damp beach beneath my bare feet is cold and wet. It sucks on my feet like the over eager, inexperienced lover I once was, making my steps tripsy and awkward as I move towards her.

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