Still Skyline Horizontal

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
A nearly stream-of-consciousness account of a day on the coast, and a man's subtle yet rapturous epiphanies. I could use help finishing this, and suggestions will be carefully considered. CAREFULLY

Submitted: January 07, 2012

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Submitted: January 07, 2012

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I was on the beach one day, clutching my bony, endothermic hands against my bony, endothermic body within the relative comfort of my elbow-padded jacket, and thinking about cloudy days like this and what they had to do with what I had to do and all of that jumbled nonsense that usually floats about my mind like a zeppelin or a word cloud with electronic signals all lighting up and displaying messages to be deciphered by the little girls in their rollerblades who worked in the old telecommunications companies connecting phone lines and when did telecommunications become about being hounded by insurance clowns anyway.  So I walked and I thought and the cool sand grated on the soles of my feet, and the ocean swam up, then swam away, like an indecisive fish which isn’t the perfect analogy, I realized but I was too hungover to consider redacting it and it sounded fine the first time.

I turned off my thoughts for a moment, along with my feet because there was this woman and her dog, and she had one of those sticks with the netting like a reduced lacrosse stick for throwing a tennis ball that every dog owner seemed to have just in case they should go to the beach, and I mean why shouldn’t they, perhaps I don’t understand.  She throws the ball deliberately into the ocean, and her dog is totally unaware, focused on that tennis ball like a midwife on a bouquet, nothing mattered and he dove into the frigid waters and disappeared a few times under the surf, but he returned victorious and his victory warmed his coat because otherwise he would be pneumonic and sorely indisposed.

My attention remained on this dog for a few paces.  He ran around excitedly, but his owner seemed to tire quickly and refrained from further ball-tossing, so he lolled his head about and saw a dead seagull, totus natura, decomposing upon a deathbed of seaweed and the dog bounds up and rolls on top of it, tongue hanging out, just loving the smell of the thing.  The owner tries to chastise him, but he’s in too deep, feathers are coming off and the smell is travelling.  A crowd accumulates slowly, a bunch of kids become upset and add to the disarray.  The dog rolls onto his stomach, ears perked up, and dashes at full tilt towards a man eating a massive turkey sandwich, spraying sand on some other visitors and tearing the meat from the bread and consuming it before the man, satisfaction clear on his face.

The owner has become understandably mortified and tries again to call the rampant animal but has the same amount of success so she just watches the carnage being wrought and follows distantly so the dog doesn’t come back and tie her in with the mess.


© Copyright 2017 Crosby Allison. All rights reserved.

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