Thick yellow heat hugged the ground. Fat cicadas sang hymns to the temperature. Standing, Holst Crawford dipped one foot into the swimming pool, took it out, sat down on the deck, and put both legs in the water up to her knees. She leaned forward to wash the grass stains off of her cool, sticky hands.
A small green frog was struggling against the dark blue tile between the deck and the water level. Holst scraped him off with her finger and brought one foot up to where he bobbed along, floating. She put the foot over the frog and pushed it under. She looked up to the sun, and tried not to close her eyes at the brightness.


Holst painted pink submarines in a blue ocean with red fish. When her art teacher was out of the room, she painted the bottom of her feet the same color red as the fish, and she took careful steps along the wooden floor.


Beaten until stiff, Holst noted that the gardenias were not dead.

05/16/2004

Author's Note: The beginning of a short story, or parts of one.

Posted on 05/17/2004
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