Day Three Hundred and Thirty-Three.


Izzy circle


She can dive a little deeper every time until finally she can see the rooftops, finally feel her hands run over pitted concrete and avoiding the gaping glass teeth. One floor at a time, she clears the buildings out, dizzied by the depth, skin puckered and peeling when she bursts back to the surface. She wonders if she will ever have children. She wonders if they will scavenge slowly like she does, bit by bit, or if they will learn to breathe this water and soak the salt into their skin. She wonders if they will start to call the water home instead of missing the rutted rocks and the sand and the dirt of the land like she does. If they will catch fish between their teeth, ripping at them with webbed hands. If they will recede back to some rougher primordial state. If they will love this rolling water globe.


Sarah circle


This was the day she got home early and cried tracks in the dust on her face, and liked them so much that she varnished her cheeks and kept them as exhibitions of her grief.



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