Something washed up on shore, we heard.
“Something washed up on shore.” our neighbor Peter had said as he walked along the road, as we stood by the mailbox. So did Aunt Elsa. We did not ask our parents, we went to go see.
Something washed up on shore. Someone dragged it away from the water before assuming a safe distance again. The sun reflected off the wet skin. It looked so perfectly smooth. Nobody else dared, so I got closer. It attached itself to my mouth and I felt the teeth grinding on my lips.
Something washed up on shore and I knew exactly who it was. I tried to push it away to see it but my hands slipped off its meat. It’s words engraved into my lips, it finally let go. It collapsed, exhausted from the travel.
Someone washed up on shore. We left it there. The next morning it was gone and we wondered when it was our time to go. We picked the scales the tides returned. I kept them. Got used to the sensation of them in my flesh.
I washed up on shore. My scales had fallen out again. I was never meant to keep them. I found myself and I told me of what I had to do. Of what I had done. At night, I prepared for the departure. So I could guide them all to the end once again.
Something washed up on shore. I was the only one left to greet it.