Undulating through the thick atmosphere, a molten sun dropped like a neon orange blob in a cosmic lava lamp. Shore birds picked mussels from the wet sand, leaving no footprints, only regrets. Tendrils of light reached out, trying to steal the salty morsels from their nibs.
Sitting cross-legged in the warm sand, just above the high tide line, she watched the Dali landscape play out in front of her. Surreal and gaudy, she tried to make sense of the last 24 hours.
She could feel the sand creeping into her shorts, and imagined she was sinking down into the funnel of an hour-glass, life falling away one grain at a time beneath her.
Her eyes were gritty from lack of sleep. Rubbing them with heel of her hand, she was surprised by the wetness on her cheek. Squinting against the last burning rays of the day, she hoped for some sort of magic, something spectacular to happen. A flash of enchantment, or at least inspiration, to transport her away.
A trail of broken dreams fanned out behind her like the tail feathers of the egret hungrily wading in the surf. Knowing she left for the right reasons didn’t make the loss easier to accept.
This was supposed to be the beginning of her new life. That’s what everyone tried to tell her. Maybe one day she’d begin to believe it too.
Trifecta, a weekly one-word prompt, challenges writers to use that word in its third definition form, using no less than 33 words or no more than 333. The week’s prompt is: New [adj. \n(y)o͞o\] 3: having been in a relationship or condition but a short time