Hey all,
Just a few words, before I share my short story. It's been almost two years since I last spent time in this community (seems there are a lot of changes to catch up on). I had started a new job back then, and didn't find the time to continue posting.
I'm back, because I'd love to take my (fiction) writing skills to the next level. This community of authors and content creators came back to mind as a fun place to do so. I'm hoping to come across many lovely stories, and think along with the authors on what makes them great and what would make them better. And I'd love to meet others here, who'll take the time to look at some of my stories and do the same for me.
Getting back on this platform, I found The Ink Well community. And just today, when I wanted to publish my first short story post, I came across theinkwell Short Story Writing Prize. Which seems like a great coincidence.
Just to be sure, I want to check whether I'm doing this right. The contest announcing post mentioned three prompts. With a little imagination, I can connect my story to the third, redemption, and to my first association with redemption, baptism. But I finished the story this morning, before learning about the contest. I hope that is okay.
The illustration I added is a small sketch I made to go with the story.
Any tips on how to get more involved in the Hive writing community are very welcome! Along with any feedback on writing style, dialogue, characters, story flow, grammar and spelling. Hope to be getting in touch with many of you. And finally, enjoy the read!
Short story:
The Secret to Outliving Everyone
The icy water feels wonderful. Its cooling effect is most welcome on a hot day like this. I try to wiggle my toes in the sand like I always used to do. It’s hard.
It’s been a long time since I last visited the ocean. It’s been a long time since I went on any day out. Since many, many years, I depend on others to help me around. Apart from the nurses, Rebecca is the only person still alive who takes me along now and then. She is in the water next to me. She helped me take off my shoes. White Velcro sneakers, with extra support. Not as fancy as Rebecca’s pink loafers, which have little, shiny beads on them.
The water tickles my feet. I take a deep, shaky breath. The salt in the air reminds me of my younger years. Reminds me not only of the ocean, but also of the taste of salty tears and the sting of salty sweat in my eyes. I used to be the real thing. I used to have real things happening to me. Real boys fighting over me. Real sorrows to cry over. Real problems to sweat about. But it’s been such a long time. These days I only smell of disinfectant, of instant noodles and coffee breath.
Rebecca is a little ahead of me now. She is my last living niece, daughter to my youngest brother, I was twenty-four when she was born. People used to think she was my kid, even when her mother was around. She always had my eyes and nose. My everything really. These days, people can’t really tell us apart. Thin, grey hair pulled back in a bun. Wrinkles, age spots, crooked back, glasses. Old people all look alike to younger folks, anyway.
My toes are really wriggling now. I can still do it. I look up and see Rebecca’s back, moving away from me. “Come on, Mary-Anne,” she says in her croaky voice. “Let’s live a little.”
Rebecca slowly shuffles in deeper. The water is already licking away at the rim of her skirt, which reaches to her ankles.
“Careful, dear,” I tell her.
We look alike, but Rebecca has a different smell around her. It has a little less noodles and coffee, and a little more of the red candy her second son Jamie always brings along. He visits every month, the sweetheart. She gets to listen to his stories, stories about a life which is still full of things. His wife finally started her own business this year. They have a garden where they grow their own tomatoes. His son listens to heavy metal and plays electric guitar, and it drives the family crazy. After Jamie’s visits, Rebecca always gets on the phone and tells me all the details. I know it makes her feel younger, talking to me. It makes her feel she still has a lot to live for.
Rebecca is knee deep in the water now. Part of her skirt swirls around her in the water, like a jelly fish. There is no way I’m following her in. If something goes wrong, there is nothing I can do to save myself. The water is twirling around my toes, just the way I like it.
“This is so refreshing!” Rebecca says. Her raspy voice sounds bolder than usual, more daring. Being around me makes her behave younger too. She acts more alive, takes more risks.
Again she makes the effort of turning her head towards me. I can see how pleased she looks, how much she is enjoying herself. She opens her mouth again, she wants to tell me more. But just then, a receding wave tugs at her slightly. It is only a little tug. But as it catches her in the effort of turning and looking at me, it is just enough to throw her off balance. I watch as the delight in her face turns to surprise, then to fear. She struggles, trying to lift and replace a foot to secure herself again. But she’s outnumbered. By the water and the wet drapes of her skirt and the unsteady ocean floor.
Rebecca doesn’t really put up a fight. There is a splash, a little one. She’s facing down. After a few seconds, some bubbles surface right next to her face. Her skirt is now a larger jelly fish. I can see that the weight of it is already pulling her lower body down. The rest of her soon follows, till she lies stranded on the ocean floor three metres away from me.
Her body sways gently, as the waves come and go. It’s almost like looking at myself bobbing around in the water. But then, I would never get into trouble like that.
I realise there’ll be no more outings. No more days at the beach or at the park. I’ll miss the stories about Jamie. About the children in grad school, and the dog who runs away all the time. I’ll even miss the red candy, which Rebecca always shares with me. I think about how I’m supposed to get home. About who’ll help me with my shoes.
Behind me, on the beach, my white Velcro sneakers are waiting. Rebecca’s pink loafers are sitting next to them. The pink loafers would be easier to put on by myself. And they have those shiny beads.
Rebecca will have people mourning for her. People who will be sad that she is gone. That’s more than I could say for myself. With Rebecca gone, it’s only the nurses who’d miss me. Except they really wouldn’t.
Her ID is in her purse. So is the red candy. It wouldn’t be so hard to take her place. Maybe I could even convince Jamie. It means I’d have a visitor every month.
The high tide is slowly setting in, tugging at Rebecca’s body. She drifts off, a few centimetres at a time.