Flash Fiction: That Time You Nearly Drowned
The thing to know about this beach is that it is flat, extremely flat. But you don’t start there.
First, you have to burn your feet on the summer cement of the parking lot. You have to step down into the loose, dry sand. You have to pick your way between the driftwood logs and across the thicket of dead seaweed. It’s like barbed wire strung across your path. There’s no avoiding it. You just let your foot sink its stringy mass of moist crunch, like cereal