Drowning Saviour

Sandy beach shore, with some haystack rocks, the ocean, and a gray sky in the background. A single black rock sits close to the forefront on the sand.

By. Laurie-Anne Jean-Baptiste

Her saviour’s hands felt familiar. But once her skin left submersion to kiss the sweet, redemptive air, she failed to see the owner of the firm grip which had come to her rescue. She slumped into the shore and embraced it, belly to the earth, as if she’d been reunited with an old friend.

She fought to stay awake. Darkness enveloped her. Later, she awoke and her eyes met the dusk.

She didn’t know how long she’d been there, but it was light enough for her to walk the short walk back to the beach house. A film of daze and wet sand covered her trembling flesh.

She wept under the stream of a hot shower. She tried to form the memory. The name of her saviour was at the tip of her tongue. Their face, at the edge of her mind.

She’d stood under the water too long. She wrapped herself in the warmth of a towel, but didn’t dry up before walking through the house to sit on her bed. She looked down and noticed her pruned fingertips, and let out a gasp.

She remembered.

The hands had been hers all along. 

Black and white close up of Laurie-Anne with her hands cupped in front of her, covering half of her face. We can see one eye, her nose, and her hair and some grains of sand covering her arms and shoulders.

Laurie-Anne has been writing for as long as she can remember and is only now ready to share her stories and ideas with the world… or at least part of the internet. A Cinema and Communications graduate, she has also studied Creative Writing. When she isn’t pursuing artistic endeavours, Laurie-Anne works as a Marketing professional. She has also dabbled in podcasting and is currently putting finishing touches on a podcast about movie classics.

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