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Mandy can hear the muted
shouting of her friends and the adults
from the fog-shrouded beach, the
setting sun a mere pink glow on the
suspended droplets. She’s too
exhausted from treading cold water
to respond. The misty fog feels
strange: evil, draining, cold. Her
mouth dips below the waterline

again. Mandy tries to shut it quickly, but some salty water still gets in. A bit of furious kicking, and her mouth breaks above the waterline again. Gasping and choking, she spits the sea out.

Tired. So tired. The soft shouts seem so far away. I can’t keep treading water. Her arms and legs feel like lead. A cramp. Her leg. Her left leg is tight and hurts. She’s kicking with one leg now. That leg gives out. Mandy is exhausted. She holds her breath as her head slips under. The shoreline shouts become muffled by the seawater.

Mandy raises her arms above her head. She points them toward the bright light dancing on the water’s surface. Bright light? The fog should be blocking the sun. Is this what dying is like? Little bubbles start to escape the corners of her mouth. A slash of darkness tears across the bright light.

Memories... how it all began... all Mandy has right now.

Copyright 2002
Timshel Literature