The stars were out, though ’twas gray. Windy. A gust.
I held a mug o’ iced cola in my lap, though ’twas cold, though ’twas still summer. I could hear the ice cubes clack as they knocked gainst each other o’er the swinging, surrounded in a dry sea infested with yellow sharp-fin grass–‘cept ’twas gray now. But I remembered from the sunny days that ‘hind that gray was yellow.
Though the air was flooding with wind, I took a deep breath. My hair & the shark fins couldn’t decide whether to sway left or right. I pulled out o’ my jacket pocket a bottle o’ pentobarbital.
“I don’t know if I can do this anymo’…” I murmured.