He stares out to sea, wraps his arms around himself, it’s all so simple.

He pulls out the WILL, flaps it against the palm of his hand. The red ribbon unravels and flutters away. Harry grabs for it. The ribbon coils lazily in the air, falls to the water, tangles on a dead fish floating belly up.

PARTING TOUCHES BY MARK JONES 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 90

This long-haired red-haired woman stalks back and forth shouting at her p…

This post is for paying subscribers