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Weekly Contest #40
Marisol watched the boy emerge from the sea and collapse onto the shore. For a moment, he lay still on his back against the sand and coughed and sputtered. She longed to help him stand up again but stood there, frozen. Though he looked like any other boy—the pale peach of his skin, the flush in his cheeks and the looseness of his clothes, as though pinned to a clothesline strung over his head—something about him seemed to glow even in the dark. And of course, he was a stranger. She remembered this, and longed to stare shyly at her feet ...
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