Flash Fiction. How to Swim.

 

His hair was ink black. It moved like a feather in the water and clung in tufts when it hit the air. I sat with my feet in the pool, flicking my cigarette ash into the aqua blue, watching the sun catching the delicate droplets of water on his back. His pale skin glowed in the daylight.

 

As the day started to fade his body turned as cool blue as the pool tiles. I thanked the stars that he was floating face down. I didn’t want to see the horrified look that was now etched on his face for eternity.

 

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