• Dzama

On The Beach

Bloody boards whining overhead- but no one’s walking up there. Just the black blood drips down through the straw and the cracks, landing on the watermelons and some other fruit. I couldn’t take it much anymore so I got up and slid the typewriter off the table. Heavy fucking thing. It just kind of hit and rolled off the guy’s head, pulling some hair out maybe but not splitting it open. I turned around and went to the sink. Washed brushes for a good half hour. Washed my face with turpentine. Never do that.

Woke up later down with the corpses. Smelled pretty toxic. I sat up, grinding my teeth. Then I had the rest of the ice-cream, brushed my teeth, swung open the screen door, and stepped out onto the sandy beach. Waves tried to suck the sand out to sea but there was so much of it.

More artillery fire. I just started walking. Walking, walking, walking. Pulled my white sari close around me as my calloused feet made cartoon footprints in the briny gloss.

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