Despite all her trepidation, the jump was exhilarating; a shock of water that tugged at her, pulling her down. She let herself sink. When she did kick out, her ankle met an unmoored figurehead, perhaps, adrift in the undercurrent of the creek.
North light fills a row of windows high above the wooden platform where I’m told to stand. Easels scrape into place like a flower blooming around me. I hear easy chatter, lean into the paint-smeared stool, struggle to unwrap this borrowed robe.
*This piece placed third with the crowd, and was also Editor's Pick (Thank you Christine!)
“Ms. Miller. How can I help you?”
“Sunday’s all squared away. Bathroom. Burst pipe. Tuesday’s the eight-hundred deductable. Julie’s fender-bender.”
“I see. What about Thursday?”
“Flooded basement. I’m guessing five thou?”