Summers

We used to live there, out in the water. Every summer, father would pile us in a boat, pull the string on the motor, and time would disappear into sun, water, and fresh seafood crackling on a propane fire.

Years of summers I spent like this with nary a care and limitless sandbars to explore.

I would miss those days more if not for the dark shadow that came and blanketed everything, that now owns my psyche.

Now to sleep is to find him beckoning, hooked finger obscene, and gnarled—tentacles promising ecstasy. So I run, knowing one day I won’t be able to any longer and I’ll go back and fulfill my destiny, to be used as the slave I am.

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