The march flies were army like in their approach. Battalions of them flew in and struck just at the moment she drifted into a semblance of sleep on the small patch of sand she had marked as hers this afternoon. It seemed peace could not even be found here, three kilometres along the crescent moon of the bay and away from the house. She slapped three of them in ten minutes and victoriously buried them in sand only to have them burrow upwards, shake themselves off again and regroup for a counter attack. 'Take that', motherfucker' she said as her hands moved toward each other in a clap but barely connected, simply clipping his wing. She wished she had bought the Aeroguard, but she had left the beach house in a flurry of expletives and random accroutrements thrown into her beach bag. She didn't even grab the right book off the bedside table, only the one she had finished last night, a hand over one eye because the words were swimming across the page like mad ducks and she wished she had not had that second bottle of wine.
'Take the hat,' he had said 'it's hot out there.' The hat he was referring to was a hideous pale blue hat that had likely been left by a middle aged wife with four children, or an old widow who realised how ridiculous she looked in it and had left it behind on purpose. She did not want to take the hat. As if responding to the vibrating anger that pulsed from her when she thought of him and the order to take the hat, the damn thing billowed like a jellyfish on her head and she had to hold it tight with one hand. 'FUCKING march flies!' she spat as another bit the soft underside of her foot, forcing her to fold in two to counter attack with her book.
Even the sea was irritating today. She knew it was not the time of year for swimming, being stinger season. She did not want to piss on her own leg, thankyou very much. Or was that an urban myth? Still, as the sweat beaded on her forehead and tickled as it trickled between her breasts and down to her belly button, perhaps she could be too quick for stingers. In and out. Something moved in the water. She squinted, unsure. Perhaps a seal, or a school of salmon? If he was there, he would tell her. Even if it was impossible to be sure, he would believe he was right. That was as irritating as march flies or stingers, or gigantic blue hats. Why did he have to be right, all the time?
Like the hat. He was right, of course. It was roasting out here. Her skin sizzled. But was happy with her peaked cap, the one crusted with salt water from the times she got it wet swimming in the Perentians. She was happy to slide sunblock across the sandy nape of her neck and angle her face away from the worst of the sun. She did not want to be told to wear the hat, no more than she wanted to be told to slow down just as she was slowing down, because she had perfect vision, darling, and could see the speed bump just as well as he could. She also did not want to be told to turn the simmering water down just as the pasta began to upheave in the roiling water, or to be asked if she had had enough wine. What kind of question is that, anyway? Her head thumped painfully. There was half a bottle of tepid water left and it would not last her the afternoon.
What she really wanted was to keep walking. Walk out on the road and hitch hike to Darwin. Get a job on a yacht and island hop across south east Asia. Sbe takes a deep breath, exhales, and holds the big blue hat aloft. The breeze eddies in the hollow made for heads with less desire to be free than hers. It suckers onto the fabric and punches it toward the jetty. When it lands it cartwheels on it's brim and disappears.
When she arrives home in the late afternoon sunshine, with her head screaming and the soles of her feet burnt, she lets everything drop and dives straight into the pool. Hundreds of tiny march fly bites are swept away in her wake. She stays under water for a long time. When she begins to surface through the lattice of green trembling light, she sees his shadow. Emerging, she gratefully takes the offered glass of cold sauvignon blanc as it clinks with iceblocks, and kisses him as he tugs her salt crusted grey cap on her damp head.
This was written in response to a writing prompt on Whaleshares.They've started a creative writing pod, which is like a community or tribe here. I felt it was a shame not to share it here just because I wrote it on another platform. It's funny, this loyalty I have to steem - plenty of people cross post with no problem! And why not, hey? I'd love to get feedback on my writing anyway. I don't post a lot of creative writing as the freewrites are too limited and short for me (though I love what the #freewrite tag brings to steem) and there doesn't seem to be as many writing competitions as there used to be on this blockchain, which is sad. Anyway, be interested if I get pulled up by Cheetah for this one. Are you posting writing on both blockchains?
@naturalmedicine II Discord Invite II #naturalmedicine
