Come home to the  relentless, shrieking crows of obligation. The sharp edges. The unwanted clarity sneaking in through the cracks. Blinding sunlight. Stark raving emptiness and howling storm. You stoop against the driving wind. A pale sapling bowed to its roots.

Respite is a blinking bottle sitting stoic on the countertop like a lighthouse. Oh thank god, someone else can take the helm. One long burning pull, two just to be safe. Flat on your back, all the broken glass and noise slip out those same cracks.

Let the waves take you, warm and briny. Powerful. A mercy. Your mother, the sea, rocks you gently, like a porcelain doll. Nothing else exists but the stars; fixed quartz in a cold, blameless sky.  Until the morning.

Samantha Virginia is a writer of short stories and flash fiction in multiple genres. She is most likely to be found wandering the wilds of Minnesota or by her Twitter handle, @TheSamMachine.