It's warm where I am- real hot, an' sandy too. I can feel the sand- real hard an' fine, sprinklin' my skin- in 'tween my toes. It hot too. I walk three steps forward- regular, not large or small an' hit the water. Instanly I feel better, watchin' as the sand washes way 'toward the deep. I sigh, as anotha burst a wind comes, blowin' the dress 'round- that only reach my knees.
It a real pretty dress- used to belon' ta my mother. The color is jus' off white- like the color a eggs an' flowy. I ain't wearin' no corset, but the top part is tight like one. An' there a ribbon- perfectly white sepeartin' my breasts from the rest a the dress. My mother was the same size as I.
I look out toward the ocean- all blue, an' begin' to walk that way. My ankles are wet now, tickled by the water that laps 'cross it. And then my calves, just 'low the tip a my dress.
I stop then an' look out ta the sun- it settin' now. There pinks an' oranges, an' still some blue. It the mos' pretty time a day, 'fore everythin' goes all black. It unfair, really. Cause there ain't no warnin'- it pretty than not.
I continue walkin'. My dress is wet now, jus' slightly but enough. It sticks to my knees, rather uncomfortably. But I try not ta notice too much. An' I keep on movin'. The water at my waist, an' the sun even lower in the sky. An' then 'bove my breats. Then I swimmin'.
"Corinne," someone call- highly distressed. The way he said my name- anxious- like I dyin'.
I turn to see Samuel on the shore, wavin' his blacks arms at me, tryin' to tell me ta come back. He frantic, an' though I can't see his face real well- he look frantic.
"Corinne, what you doin' way out there?"
"I'm swimmin'," I say- but he can't hear me.
"Why don' you come back in. There sharks way out there."
I wanna tell 'em that I ain't that far- but lookin' 'round- I see that I am. Samuel look like a tiny dot an' I can no longer 'ear what he sayin'. He screamin'- but it sound like a whisper.
But I don' turn 'round. I keep on swimming', 'till I can swim no mo'. My arms to tired, my legs achin' rough. An' then I stop tryin', loosen' my breath as I sink ta the bottom.
When I wake- My forhead drippin' with sweat, an' I pantin' real heavy. It still dark- but I get up.
It a real pretty dress- used to belon' ta my mother. The color is jus' off white- like the color a eggs an' flowy. I ain't wearin' no corset, but the top part is tight like one. An' there a ribbon- perfectly white sepeartin' my breasts from the rest a the dress. My mother was the same size as I.
I look out toward the ocean- all blue, an' begin' to walk that way. My ankles are wet now, tickled by the water that laps 'cross it. And then my calves, just 'low the tip a my dress.
I stop then an' look out ta the sun- it settin' now. There pinks an' oranges, an' still some blue. It the mos' pretty time a day, 'fore everythin' goes all black. It unfair, really. Cause there ain't no warnin'- it pretty than not.
I continue walkin'. My dress is wet now, jus' slightly but enough. It sticks to my knees, rather uncomfortably. But I try not ta notice too much. An' I keep on movin'. The water at my waist, an' the sun even lower in the sky. An' then 'bove my breats. Then I swimmin'.
"Corinne," someone call- highly distressed. The way he said my name- anxious- like I dyin'.
I turn to see Samuel on the shore, wavin' his blacks arms at me, tryin' to tell me ta come back. He frantic, an' though I can't see his face real well- he look frantic.
"Corinne, what you doin' way out there?"
"I'm swimmin'," I say- but he can't hear me.
"Why don' you come back in. There sharks way out there."
I wanna tell 'em that I ain't that far- but lookin' 'round- I see that I am. Samuel look like a tiny dot an' I can no longer 'ear what he sayin'. He screamin'- but it sound like a whisper.
But I don' turn 'round. I keep on swimming', 'till I can swim no mo'. My arms to tired, my legs achin' rough. An' then I stop tryin', loosen' my breath as I sink ta the bottom.
When I wake- My forhead drippin' with sweat, an' I pantin' real heavy. It still dark- but I get up.
