This is the 88th installment of a 100-day challenge to write a new vignette every morning.
She was amazed by the large chunks of ice washing up on the beach.
Sitting on her towel, Patty had enjoyed her peaceful morning just staring at the ocean. At this point in November, no one ventured out to the water, so she could have some quiet. She could have some time to think. She could decide what to do about her rotten, no-good, cheating, lying son of a—
Husband. The man she married. The man who decided that every woman in her book club was fair game.
Then the ice showed up, bit by bit. She didn’t live that far north, and winter hadn’t really begun yet. Ice had no business here, and yet here it was.
She stood and reached for a piece that had washed up near her towel. It looked, oddly enough, like a webbed bird foot—like a duck?
As she glanced up to survey the other pieces, she saw a black speck down the beach. The speck grew and became a man, clad in a tuxedo.
“Did you see—” He stopped several yards from her and doubled over, panting. “Did you see an ice—” His mouth fell agape as he noticed the ice swan head halfway between them. He glanced back at the water, and Patty noticed, for the first time, the silhouette of a cruise ship on the horizon.
“I am so fired,” the man said, and he sunk down on the sand.
Miles Away 