Flash fiction by Paul Thompson
The Two-Dimensional Boat
We wade out towards the boat.
The sand pathways shift with every push of the tide, the depth of the ocean fluctuating all around us. Natasha holds my hand as we stumble across the exposed plateaus, the water at times as high as our knees. From the shore the boat appears to be normal, but once at sea it reveals itself as a fake. It is a film prop, a two-dimensional cut out, left over from a movie production many years ago.
Today it is a remnant, a reminder of the boom years once enjoyed by the island. It is a challenge for drunken locals, a target within the obstacle course of the ever-changing currents.
We reach the boat to find it covered in signatures. Many are from the original cast and crew, their closing credits etched into the wood. We trace their names as the tide sucks at our feet, always reminding us of its intention.
As we add our names to the boat the sand beneath us collapses. I steady myself against the prop, reach out and find that Natasha has gone, pulled out of the limelight and into forever.
We wade out towards the boat.
The sand pathways shift with every push of the tide, the depth of the ocean fluctuating all around us. Natasha holds my hand as we stumble across the exposed plateaus, the water at times as high as our knees. From the shore the boat appears to be normal, but once at sea it reveals itself as a fake. It is a film prop, a two-dimensional cut out, left over from a movie production many years ago.
Today it is a remnant, a reminder of the boom years once enjoyed by the island. It is a challenge for drunken locals, a target within the obstacle course of the ever-changing currents.
We reach the boat to find it covered in signatures. Many are from the original cast and crew, their closing credits etched into the wood. We trace their names as the tide sucks at our feet, always reminding us of its intention.
As we add our names to the boat the sand beneath us collapses. I steady myself against the prop, reach out and find that Natasha has gone, pulled out of the limelight and into forever.
Paul Thompson lives and works in Sheffield. His stories have appeared in Literally Stories, The Drabble and Ellipsis Zine. You can find more at www.hombrehompson.com
