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.
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?
Soooooo relaxing. Waves rocked me to sleep.
Hurry, let’s claim our chairs.
Chairs. There’s pizza near the pool.
Wearing your patch?
Don’t have one.
Sit here. Sea air helps. ‘Bye.
Find a doctor.
You’ll be fine.
Move, or I’ll ruin your sneakers.
I’m going home . . .
You’ve had a shot of phenergan—you’ll be fine.
. . . if I have to walk on water.
Phenergan worked! Can Cun! Let’s shop till we drop.
. . . I’m queasy.
Author’s note: Day 3 is fiction. The speaker in green did not become queasy. Life is not fair.
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