Dzinski felt like he was at sea.

Huddled together, under the gunwales, the salty water splashing, soaking the wool-lined jackets, already heavy on their slumping shoulders. He heard the waves slamming the side of the boat, the whistles of the bombs falling, the staccato of the machine guns firing, the distant screams from the beach.

His hand shook as he reached for the bourbon. He drank.

Another beach, another lifetime. High, hot sun, a hand tugging him across the soft sand, into the water until they couldn’t touch bottom, then her bright smile disappearing as the waves crashed over them.


Prompt courtesy of Friday Fictioneers. More stories here.


8 thoughts on “Unmoored

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