Short Stories
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Tide Pools
Tide goes in, tide goes out. But what stays is a whole world unto itself. You’d think being a fisherman’s daughter, I would have understood all his crazy sayings by now. It’s too cold on the shore for anyone else, but fitting for me to be here; leaping from rock to rock across the pools just like I had as a child. I chase my memories among the battering of onshore winds that deafen me to anything but my thoughts. My ballet flats perch atop a thin black rock and my arms reach out in balance against the brooding gray sky. Little droplets of rain sting like barbs when they…
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Merry Gods
Luuk’s hands stretched around the gift-wrapped flower pot, the orange flower heads bouncing as he strode along the sterile corridor behind his father. He raised the pot to show his dad how his fingertips almost touched on the other side. ‘Look,’ he said, as the dancing orange heads caught his attention again. ‘Merry Gods!’ ‘Marigolds.’ Luuk held the pot close his chest. ‘… and in Vlaams?’ ‘Goudsbloem,’ Nick replied, and stopped to face his son. He brushed at Luuk’s sandy hair with his fingers, tidying it as best he could. It still amazed him how scruffy a six-year-old could get after a few hours, even on the last day of…
