The Witching Hour

Stepping out of the water onto the sand I look around, breathing in my surroundings as if it’s the first time that I have seen the world around me. 

Like I’ve been in a coma for years and trying to understand my strange place in this world

The sun is no longer up, but it hasn’t been for some hours. I’d have to say that it is sometime on the cusp between one day and another.

I believe that they call this time of day the witching hours. It is said that all strange things occur during this timeframe.

Witches fly, demons prance to their victims and this is when most murderers haul their bodies in hopes of not being caught by anyone feeling they would be safe under the cover of the night sky.

Tonight’s sky is cloud free and it’s speckled with bright stars. But alas my head is not as clear as the sky above me.

And there are no speckled stars in my mind lending a lit path. I leave a trail of water behind me but my feet do not seem to leave an imprint in the sand.

Breathing in, I realize that my chest hurts. I must have taken in water like a sinking ship.

Drenched and soaking wet with chest pain and a head that is spinning like a weather vane inside a tornado.

I begin to cough up water and gasp for air.