1.9.20
She feels her face but through the mittens, cold and sweaty, folded in between her afternoon thighs.
1.9.19
Blood drips down from the crack in her ice-cold chin and she feels it sticky when she opens and closes her clammy, scraped-up hands.
1.9.18
It’s easier, she determines, to spin round without a partner who skates ahead because she hadn’t learned to stop.
1.9.17
She crashes down onto the rink with the adults caring too much about the other children laughing.
1.9.16
Darkening, the ocean augmented as she excavated through the messy buildup of sand and loose morass falling in around the hole through which the turtle tumbled, and she suffocated as the sand poured down through the end of her snorkel and filled her cottonmouth.
1.9.15
She swam ahead alone with someone right behind her, and wove through the coral as the turtle ducked and dove in schools of fish, molten and aglow.