11 Days.

10 Minutes.

No Edits.

Raw Writing.

Close to heart.

Enjoy!

The Boat

A new moon. The absence of light. Water lapping onto shore, impeded only by the quaint row boat nestled in the sand.

He approaches with an uneven gait, seemingly unaccustomed to walking in the dunes. When he reaches the boat, he fumbles at his feet. He grunts with exertion as he lifts the heavy object he’d been dragging. Behind him, the trail of a slim figure being pulled across the beach has hidden his footprints from view.

The beach eats up evidence of its history.

The boat jostles with the redistribution of weight, but doesn’t escape his grip on the bow. The man wipes the sweat from his brow, lifts a flask to his cracked lips and drinks before launching the boat into the lake.

Icy water soaks his trousers to his knees, but he’s numb all over and doesn’t notice. How could he feel anything after what had happened?

With the grace of a mud hen, he clambers into the boat and grabs tight to the oars. His shoulder is stiff from the night’s events, dragging and hauling, but still he presses forward.

His eyes have adjusted to the dark, and in fact he’s grateful for it. He wonders if you had planned it this way. If you had wanted him floundering in the darkest night of summer. If you had wanted him to find his way to this boat, with only the dead for company.

Did you?

Сайхан Бичээрэй!

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