Two months after the divorce Dad picked me up from work and drove us along the coast to where they brought the sharks in for slaughter. On the beach I sprayed him with fistfuls of sand. He laughed and came crashing into me, forcing me onto the ground. I laughed then, too, although the bruises were already forming on my back. He said he wanted to do something about the sharks. What if we grabbed them as they were being thrown back? Went into the city and put them on CEOs’ desks to be discovered in the morning. Give them something to talk about.
It’s been a week since Dad last picked me up from work. A text said he had to move away, that he was sorry. Now I go down to the beach at night and watch the carcasses floating out to sea.
Rory is a British writer focussing on shorter works. He has been published in Vast Literary Press, SoFloPoJo, CandleLit Mag, and Passengers Journal (forthcoming).
This story was shortlisted in the September 24 Monthly Micro Competition.