My Day Q post is recycled from last year, a short-short story prompted by this photograph by Fatima Fakier Deria, on Friday Fictioneers. The event it’s based on occurred in 2002, but it will forever live in infamy.
Day 1
Beautiful . . . waves, sunset . . .
Deck chairs . . .
Can’t wait, two nights at sea,
then—Can Cun. We’ll shop till we drop.
Uh-uh. Swimming, sunbathing, siestas. Bar open yet?
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Day 2
Soooooo relaxing. Waves rocked me to sleep.
Hurry, let’s claim our chairs.
Breakfast?
Chairs. There’s pizza near the pool.
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I’m queasy.
Wearing your patch?
Don’t have one.
Sit here. Sea air helps. ‘Bye.
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Find a doctor.
You’ll be fine.
Move, or I’ll ruin your sneakers.
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I’m going home . . .
You’ve had a shot of phenergan—you’ll be fine.
. . . if I have to walk on water.
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Day 3
Phenergan worked! Can Cun! Let’s shop till we drop.
. . . I’m queasy.
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Author’s note: Day 3 is fiction. The speaker in green did not become queasy. Life is not fair.
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Kathy Waller 