Krista says, “Sound prompts were offered for initial inspiration, and one evoked heavy rainfall on a metal roof. From there, I thought about the desire to be drenched. And how close the desire to be drenched is to the desire to drown. Voilà, the birth of Phil and his particular tin predicament.”
Phil dreamt of the sea the way candles dream of flame.
He would have fled to the sea long ago — candle wax vanished into air — but unlike candles, Phil had Molly. Molly who’d rescued him, held him close, her song of a face whispering its own drenching temptation.
But still, some nights after Molly fell asleep, the sea sang, and Phil couldn’t resist. Rusty step after rusty step, he would creak his way down to the shore. In the salt-scented air, the pull and call of the wide water begged him to wade, dip, dive in if he dared. It pleaded with him to abandon his rusted ankles, elbows, hips, knees, iron joints, and strong shoulders to the blue wet of possibility. It promised him he would not only float, but would sail free. Come, come home to me.
Listen to Krista read the opening of her Shimmer 12 story, “No Place Like Home, or Building the Yellow Brick Road.” (3kb, mp3)