Pulling himself from the tide, John Skellig clawed at the beach’s edge of the cove. The wounds along the soft skin of his abdomen stung like a thousand rusty nails while the undertow attempted to drag him under for the third time. It seemed the gulf waters wanted him dead as much as the bloody bird shrieking in the night sky above.
First Lines Contest 2018: Death Island
The First Lines Contest 2018 is closed. Please submit your vote in the current year.