She ran between the precarious houses, through labyrinthine alleys, searching for the embankment, the shore, trying to ignore the fact that the black water seemed agitated, because it couldn’t be, because that water didn’t breathe, the water was dead, it couldn’t kiss the banks with waves, it couldn’t be ruffled by the wind, it couldn’t have those eddies or the current or that swelling, how could there be a swelling when the water was stagnant? Marina ran toward the bridge and didn’t look back and she covered her ears with her bloody hands to block out the noise of the drums.
