The smell of adrenaline, forcing light-headedness into his system, bracing muscles against impact and strain, pushing limbs through saline water. It tastes of burning ethanol, sharp and sweet.
In the sea, it's not easy to stay upright. Light distorts into thick, warbly-wet paintbrush strokes. As does motion.
YOU ARE READING
story eggs
Randomyears long collection of very short snippets :) More recently, though, where else would an engineer go to write, if not for the only place she feels that it belongs? ao3 is for better imaginations, something built with heart, something built with sp...
