"The Wrecking Ground, pt. 1" by Lee Huttner
Updated: Jun 25, 2018
"The Wrecking Ground" is an essay told in parts by Lee Huttner. We will be publishing a new part each week on our blog. Stay tuned!
The child was still warm when they pulled its body from the shallows.
See: the tern wheels overhead. It calls, once, a long, caustic wail.
Kneeling in the spume, they pressed the brine from its lungs, a stream of viscous bilge passing from between its lips.
See: the dunes harbor the nest of the brooding plover. You’ll know by the underfeathers caught in the brambles, white pennants fluttering.
Unbidden visions of deep midnight: the echo that splays outward from every footfall against wet sand; hollow, chitinous fragments of crab, bleach-white; bladderwrack uprooted, spread along the lee of a cove, rotting to mucus.
All stones wish for the sea.
See: a boy chases a sandpiper along the shore. The bird flees to the air, where the boy cannot follow.
The sun breaks through the thick mist. The water’s surface simmers, gray, to blue, now gray again.
Beneath the waves, perfect silence.