The One That Got Away

Shawna stands still at the edge of the ocean, sand sinking under her heels, saltwater lapping at her toes. It’s too hot to be wearing a black dress and leggings. Sweat begins to pool in the worst places. She shifts uncomfortably but doesn’t move her feet. She wants to feel rooted and permanent. Her mother’s face, sickly white in the coffin, had looked too much like her own. It seems not only possible, but inevitable, that a shark of leviathan proportions will drag her into the sea and tear her apart. The world is out to get her.

She shields her eyes against the strident brightness of the sun. If every other force in the world fails to kill her, someday the sun will explode and get her for sure. She is the only being bent on her survival. Who else gives a shit?

The sweater she wears over her dress has become an inconvenience. She pulls it over her broad shoulders, bony elbows. After a moment of consideration, she balls it up and hurls it at the fishes. As far as gestures of defiance of go, it’s a pretty feeble one. Still, she smirks, wants to throw something else so the message is clear. All she has are the clothes on her back. She becomes increasingly conscious that the beach is crowded for a Wednesday morning.

She doesn’t have to think very hard before she starts peeling off her cloying leggings. In the end, is their approval going to do her any good? They’re all worried about their own asses. Fuck them all. This thought feels satisfactorily rebellious. She steps forward with the force of her next throw, turns around laughing and shouts “Fuck you all!” There is a remarkable lack of reaction. There is no reason that this should bother her.

Shawna tears violently at her ill-fitting dress, trying to maneuver it over her head. This is urgent. It seems unlikely that she can defeat mortality by undressing, but who’s to say? She isn’t able to throw the heavy material very far, but her bra and panties go a long way. She feels too much sun on her skin to notice the chilly glares of a number of sunbathing housewives. She feels separate from the rest of humanity, a new form of life that can’t be stopped. She shudders with the suddenness of being naked and hugs her waist. Standing still now seems a pointless exercise. Shawna has never been a runner, but now she takes off, a foot on either side of the boundary between land and sea. She howls like a hungry animal and laughs maniacally. The light at the end of the tunnel is surely behind her, the pursuing beast will never catch up. She leaps over astounded children and family pets, the corpses of crabs and jellyfishes. They weren’t as fast as Shawna. No one and nothing can catch her now. Her golden hair is a sail capturing the wind. She will run forever.