by Juliet Boyd

The water lapped over her feet in waves, slowly gaining ground. It felt gentle, almost comforting. It reminded her of holidays on the beach when she was a child. She bent down and cupped some in her hands. She knew she ought not to drink it but she could not stop herself. It tasted a little bitter, she thought, and she drank some more.

Juliet Boyd lives and works in Somerset and writes in her spare time.