Daily Writing Prompt

The squawking shakes me out of my reverie as I stifle the urge to throw a rock at the seagull. I curl my toes deeper into the yielding sand delaying thinking about the day ahead. Steady, but barely appearing to move in the distant, the ship would be docking in the harbour in a few short hours. The handover ceremony is scheduled for two o’clock, but for now I pretend to enjoy the sun’s rays warming up my body and the day. The light reflecting off the the piercing blue water and the white sand causes the tears I dab at. A sudden wave of nausea washes over me and Jenny looks at me worriedly.

‘The salty smell is burning my throat.’

She does not believe me but hands me the bottle of water. She shades her eyes using her delicate hand as a visor and stares at the ship that would bring her beloved dad, my husband, back in a coffin. We are not ready for today.