The Whiskey Sea

by Ann Howard Creel

She also knew that the story you made up in your mind was rarely the real story.

their boat moved like a stingray in slick waters.

It was a lovely night, with millions of stars splattered across the sky and only a curved blade of waxing moon cutting across that dark velvet. The wind hushed like someone sighing, and music drifted down over them from dockside bars.

The planet clicked just a tiny notch on its axis, but her world did a somersault. Perhaps her surrender had always been inevitable.

“This life out in the elements suits me. Doing things, physical things. Being out of doors, breathing hard, the sun on my face, and the wind in my hair.”