The Sixth Minute

I heard a wave crashing nearby. Moments later, I felt it touching me gently. It hurt. It burned—not the clean burn of fire, but something deeper, more raw, like my nerves were processing sensations they weren't designed to interpret. I wanted to scream, but no sound came from my mouth. My throat worked uselessly; I tried to swallow, but started a fitful cough instead. Eventually, I managed a groan and slowly opened my eyes. Sunset? No. Sunrise. But the light felt off, the colours bleeding at the edges like a watercolour left in the rain.

Carefully, I exhaled deeply, ignoring the searing pain in my lungs—each breath pulled through glass. Good. Sunrise was good, no matter what it looked like. I had survived another day. Time to investigate the damage; one breath at a time.

Another wave came crashing in, this time rolling over me. I hissed through clenched teeth. The saltwater found every wound—I was naked, exposed, and it had a field day with me. My skin had cracked open on my back as well as my hands—the splits widening as the water receded, pulling at torn edges…