Salt

122/365

Muffled screams bubble to the surface and pop wet, slopping and splashing over the outgrowing ripples. The slow sluggish struggle against the restraining forces of gravity cripple. Inhaled gulps of salt are coughed and sneezed at once with half full lungs caught somewhere between an inhale and exhale, cup half empty.

The wobbly discombobulated mirage of the sun sort of shines through, but not really. More like its idea mirages by or superimposes itself over the waving surface as it fades. A thick silence hugs the eardrums as acceptance makes its way through.

Relaxed muscles.

The ride has ended.