All I see for miles are fishing lines. End of season, most vacationers have gone back to school and work. The only people left on the beach are fishers, those who live here, and those who are drawn.
Me being the latter.
Hurricane season. Miles offshore, a storm churns the waters. Outer bands have started to roll in. The stifling humidity a warning the storm is getting closer, growing stronger.
Wherever the path in the next 24 hours, this area will be under a mandatory evacuation. This time tomorrow, the beach will be completely deserted, save for one body.
Mine.
Nortina's Writing Inspiration Well 