Letter

I’m writing...

It may have been two days, it may have been twenty.

When I opened my eyes it was dark and I was lying and waiting to see whether it will darken or dawn. Nook stank. I stank. Water in the bottom of the bucket was warm and green with algae. My eyes were stinging from dust and ashes of the fire that went out who knows when. I strained to patch up at least a few pieces of feverous memories into picture of past few days.

There was a stick seized from the sea standing by the entrance and it took me to the water.

On my way back I heavy-heartedly noticed that the sand had eaten the eggs fallen from the nest that should have been mine.