What the Tide Brings In by Glenn Howard

One year after his mother died, Simon walked along the beach. The sun shot across the wet sand and twinkled. There are more stars than all the grains of sand in the world. His mother had told him that when she showed him this beach. She told him, lifted off her white cotton dress and dove off the rocks into the dark water. Simon went down to the end of the beach and climbed up onto the diving rocks. A log waved at Simon out in the ocean. Remembering his mother’s long brown hair trailing in the water, her breath leaving foamy salt water trails, he almost waved back.

Simon climbed down off the rock. His sneakers made a soft pat pat pat sound as he walked back along the beach. His mind was somewhere else when his foot bumped into something: a fawn sprawled out on the sand, dumb and dead with its tongue out. The crows had come and left its legs twisted, specs of blood dotted its brown and white fur. How did you die? He turned around and looked over to the diving rocks. Above the rocks stood a gray clay hill. He imagined the fawn crashing down the hill, unable to grip the wet earth, hitting the rock and falling into the ocean. Maybe she drowned. A murder was waiting for him to leave, beating their wings and sharpening their black scythes in the trees. Simon sat. The fawn’s crooked abdomen hummed with flies. He thought about lifting the deer and carrying it to the brush. I wish I could bury you. A crow flew from the murder and almost scalped Simon with its wing. I won’t leave you yet. He looked towards the distant shore, wondering what else the tide might bring in.

Glenn Howard is a writer living in Victoria, British Columbia. He serves as managing editor for the University of Victoria’s undergraduate literary journal, This Side of West.