Flash Fiction 6-2-20 W/C 291
Foggy ocean. So thick I can’t see the shore. Unfortunate for me. I’m floating in a box. A wooden box of all things. But how, why?
I remember being awake then going to sleep. How long ago was that? And where was !?
I don’t live by the ocean. How did I end up in the ocean in a box?
The box bobs up and down in the waves. Salt water washes over the sides of the box.
Wait, this is no ordinary box. The shape. The waves push me to the shoreline.
The box and I wash up on a beach. I lay among the seaweed and seashells and broken remains of the box. It was lined with a pink material. It is strewn all along the seashore. Strips of the lining cover my naked body.
What am I doing on this beach?
I stand and survey the scene. Suddenly I understand. The box was a coffin. It lies in pieces on the beach.
Part of my memory returns. A boat. A man. A drink. Was I supposed to be dead?
Terror fills my soul. I have to hide or find a way off this beach. Someone wants me dead.
But as I run around the beach I find that this is a small island, and I cannot hide or leave. I’m truly as dead as if I was stuck in that coffin.
I decide to face my fears. I stand, fierce in my nakedness. The sun is setting.
I wake up. The box is bobbing in the water. Where am I? Fog surrounds me. I can barely see the other person sitting next to me.
“You okay?” He asks me as I glance his way. “I thought you were dead.”