Low tide.

The bloated body washed ashore was made of delicate porcelain bruised with streaks of vermilion and ochre. Greased flesh swollen with putrefaction.

The deceased was spotted by a runner, solo in the early morning as he freed his mind from the world and let it fly to the sea. The police were called and an officer attended quickly.

The runner gladly relinquished from responsibility, took the officer’s brusque dismissal appreciatively.

Inspector Rob Guest stood silently watching the speck dissolve into the morning light. Smiling peremptorily, he turned the corpse over. He already knew.

The face stared back silently.

©DJA 2016


From the Compendium of One Hundred Word Stories