Well. Yesterday was interesting. I didn't have that much to do at work but what I did have swelled up and took up way too much time. The phone rang just enough that I couldn't focus on my writing, and when I finally did wrestle my mind into submission, a customer with the most charming 4 year old came in and I was lost. That's my excuse anyway. Sorry you had to go to bed un-entertained, Roi.
January 13--Fossil Coral Terraces, Boka Bartol. The fossilized coral she lay on clung to her skin like Velcro. She lifted her cheek and felt her cells wanting to stick to the rock. Her first thought was how hot and wet she was, how airless it was where she lay, and then she realized that she was naked and even the smallest shift brought pounding pain to her head. She lay still, exploring her sprawled limbs with her mind and the barest of movements. She became aware of a rolling sound growing louder and a wave of salt water engulfed her and threatened to pull her off her rocky rest. Only her limpet-like grip on the porous rock and determination kept her there. As soon as the water began to recede and she could breathe again, she gritted her teeth and pushed herself up with her hands and feet. A groan rose as far as her teeth but she pushed it back. I'll groan when I'm safe, she thought, as she lifted one bleeding hand to grasp a ledge just above her head and began to climb. It wasn't until she had pulled herself over the edge of the narrow mouth in the coastline onto the flat cactus filled and rocky ground that she gave a thought to how she had gotten down into the slot and who had put her there.
Dun-dun-dunnnn. Is this Anya? Maybe. I don't know. Probably. She's sure in a pickle, isn't she?
--Barbara
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