The waves crumple and crinkle, tinfoil turning molten in the sun. Her wings flutter and her tale carves a serpent in the crushed blue velvet surface. The grasses whistle next to her ears and she lifts tentatively off the boardwalk. She salutes the sunshine as the ship slices its way out to sea. The rudder foam coats the sides of her stomach.
The silence of all the little blue bubbles of liquid ink drifting back and forth in the pen’s viewing window signal the end of her hard day’s work. She spent it pulling the seams of the patchwork beach quilt back together—all of the pieces of their separate lives haphazardly pasted together.
Her Fate’s-thread is thicker than a spider’s web and sticks to her characters, two bundles of prey vibrating in the wind rolling over the dunes.
She watches, smiling, waiting for the wind to pull them out to sea.
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