She hadn’t anticipated the cold.
She knew this wasn’t supposed to be comfortable, not that there were many stories about how it was supposed to be, but comfort was really the last thing you could expect, at least while you were actually doing it. Even pills would make you nauseated.
Her original plan was to bury her clothes in the sand before walking into the water. The outgoing tide was so swift that at its full it made a dimple a hundred yards offshore. She wouldn’t need to swim far, though she was a strong swimmer. A champion, she thought scornfully. Yeah, right. Some champion.
Christ, but it was cold. Even taking her jacket off was almost intolerable. Depending on what you believed, the next step would take you to a tunnel of light or all your loved ones or the next life.
She didn’t believe any of that anyway.
Sunday Photo Fiction, 150 words
I hope that means she put her jacket back on and was saved by the cold.
It could go either way. It’s for the reader to decide, I guess.
Sad story hope she changes her mind
At the very least, why go naked? Sorry, but I would argue that if you are going to go, try to go in comfort. Death by chocolate all the way.
I can’t help but want to know more about this woman and why she is committing suicide, why she wants to do it naked, and why she needs to bury her clothes? Suicide is so sad. This prompt has brought a rash of stories about suicide. Isn’t that odd?
I am always amazed when a certain picture makes similar impressions to all sorts of people. Rochelle’s pictures of mushrooms connoted stories of rape and violence. Perhaps there is some kind of psychic shorthand at work in us all.
I think you are right about that. Psychic shorthand. So many suicide stories for one prompt.