13

the day drips into itself in some slow disintegration, a colourful puddle rippling before you, around you, it is you. the ripples are echos of your forgotten intention. something stirs beneath. an invisible but massive form. for an instant a slithering appendage breaks the surface and disappears. green so dark it's almost black. glinting like metal.

something horrible. the tip of a memory that ruined your life. or rather when your life began to be ruined. the appendage poking like the tongue of a friend from junior school out the side of his mouth when he was thinking. now black almost green swollen like a dead thing. your friend is dead. not literally of course but he might as well be.

you talked on the phone every day after school. then stopped and never began again.

everything stopped. your world stopped. your plans, your hopes, your dreams, your sense of self. it stopped. a moment, like you were riding a wave your short life, the sun above, the wind through your hair, a board and surf below. exhilaration and growing confidence and fulfillment and in a moment the wave, the tide, the ocean had turned against you, an unimaginable power dragging you under and drawing you out, destroying everything you thought you knew.