image credits: Meghan Yabsley

Our identical bicycles leaning against the railings, the cool breeze caressing our skins, frigid sea waves under our feet, hidden under the pier from nosy strangers – we shared our first cigarette, the first of many.

Twenty years later, I stand alone at the same spot, an unlit cigarette dangling from my lips – if only the repeated warnings were ever heeded.

The idiot never learned to swim.

NOTE: This work of fiction is written in response to Three Line Tales 75 hosted by Sonya.