Week 17: Banner Year
Dec. 16th, 2025 07:24 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
inkstainedfingertipsIt wasn’t your fault. You’ve been cleared. Time to get back on the horse, Colby. I expect to see you Monday morning bright and early. Don’t be late.
I was cleared. It’s not my fault. Easier to say than to accept. Harder still when I see her wandering the market. The living manifestation of my failure. My guilt. She shuffles along like a ghost, barely aware of the world around her. She’s pale, her expression vacant. She just looks… lost. I mean, it’s understandable, given what happened.
The moment I spot her, my brain screams at me to leave. To get the hell out of there. But my body rebels and forces me to stand there. To remember what happened. And I do, in agonizing detail. I can feel the sun on my skin. Smell the salt of the ocean in the air. Hear the screaming.
I want to run but my body betrays me. It forces me to stand there and to truly see her.
For some, lifeguarding is a way of life. For me, it was a way to spend all day at the beach, make some money, and get laid in the process. It was hanging out with friends, partying at the bonfires at night, and just making as many memories as I could. It was my last summer before I went off to college, and I was determined to live it to the fullest.
It was the best summer of my life. Until it wasn’t.
Unable to turn and flee, our eyes meet, and the breath is driven from my lungs. I try to force myself to move but I’m frozen in place. Like I’m stuck in concrete. She stares at me across the produce section like I’m the first solid thing she’s seen in days.
Maybe I am.
“Fuck,” I mutter as she shambles over to me.
“Y—you’re the one,” she says. “Y—you—you tried…”
Her voice trails off but her eyes implore me to speak. My tongue feels too large for my mouth, and I can’t meet her eyes. Unable to produce a sound, let alone a word, all I can do is I lower my head and nod.
“Wh—what happened?” she asked.
Officially? Officially, her husband and five-year-old son ignored the warnings and got caught in a strong riptide. Officially, because of their reckless and careless actions, I couldn’t get to them before they’d swallowed too much of the ocean. Their fault, not mine.
But she’s not asking me for the official report.
“Please tell me.”
I know what she wants. She wants me to tell her why I failed to save her son. I open my mouth, but no words come out. Instead, my gaze falls to my hand. To the faint traces of blue ink that still tattoo my skin. Daphne’s phone number.
I close my eyes and can still see the way the sun set her red hair ablaze. Smell the coconut lotion on her supple, golden skin. See the way her bikini barely contained her breasts and the way she leaned forward, giving me a better view with the whispered promise of more upon her full, cherry red lips.
I was so caught up thinking about the coming night’s conquest, I didn’t hear the shrieking in the water. Not at first. Not for a full minute. Maybe two. By the time I heard it and got to the kid, it was too late. He was gone. So was his father.
Two lives swept away by a riptide they never should have been trying to swim in. If they’d obeyed the warnings, they’d both still be there. If I hadn’t been so caught up with Daphne, trying to ensure I’d get laid later that night, maybe I would have reacted faster.
I push that thought aside. I was cleared. I did nothing wrong. Despite that though, this woman, a new widow who’d just lost her only child is standing in front of me wanting to know why I failed them when it was my job to save them.
“Please,” she said. “What happened?”
I absently rub at the blue ink that’s seared into my skin, burning like an accusation. Trying to wipe away the evidence. The woman wants to know everything I’ve swallowed down. Continue to swallow down. But admitting it would only compound her grief. Push her even further down into the dark hole she’s already in. Or maybe that’s just what I’m telling myself.
I’m drowning in my silence.
“Please,” she repeats.
I allowed myself to be distracted. One minute. And as a result, lives have been shattered. Forever altered. I was cleared. It wasn’t my fault.
But… it was.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
It was the best summer of my life. Until it wasn’t.
I was cleared. It’s not my fault. Easier to say than to accept. Harder still when I see her wandering the market. The living manifestation of my failure. My guilt. She shuffles along like a ghost, barely aware of the world around her. She’s pale, her expression vacant. She just looks… lost. I mean, it’s understandable, given what happened.
The moment I spot her, my brain screams at me to leave. To get the hell out of there. But my body rebels and forces me to stand there. To remember what happened. And I do, in agonizing detail. I can feel the sun on my skin. Smell the salt of the ocean in the air. Hear the screaming.
I want to run but my body betrays me. It forces me to stand there and to truly see her.
For some, lifeguarding is a way of life. For me, it was a way to spend all day at the beach, make some money, and get laid in the process. It was hanging out with friends, partying at the bonfires at night, and just making as many memories as I could. It was my last summer before I went off to college, and I was determined to live it to the fullest.
It was the best summer of my life. Until it wasn’t.
Unable to turn and flee, our eyes meet, and the breath is driven from my lungs. I try to force myself to move but I’m frozen in place. Like I’m stuck in concrete. She stares at me across the produce section like I’m the first solid thing she’s seen in days.
Maybe I am.
“Fuck,” I mutter as she shambles over to me.
“Y—you’re the one,” she says. “Y—you—you tried…”
Her voice trails off but her eyes implore me to speak. My tongue feels too large for my mouth, and I can’t meet her eyes. Unable to produce a sound, let alone a word, all I can do is I lower my head and nod.
“Wh—what happened?” she asked.
Officially? Officially, her husband and five-year-old son ignored the warnings and got caught in a strong riptide. Officially, because of their reckless and careless actions, I couldn’t get to them before they’d swallowed too much of the ocean. Their fault, not mine.
But she’s not asking me for the official report.
“Please tell me.”
I know what she wants. She wants me to tell her why I failed to save her son. I open my mouth, but no words come out. Instead, my gaze falls to my hand. To the faint traces of blue ink that still tattoo my skin. Daphne’s phone number.
I close my eyes and can still see the way the sun set her red hair ablaze. Smell the coconut lotion on her supple, golden skin. See the way her bikini barely contained her breasts and the way she leaned forward, giving me a better view with the whispered promise of more upon her full, cherry red lips.
I was so caught up thinking about the coming night’s conquest, I didn’t hear the shrieking in the water. Not at first. Not for a full minute. Maybe two. By the time I heard it and got to the kid, it was too late. He was gone. So was his father.
Two lives swept away by a riptide they never should have been trying to swim in. If they’d obeyed the warnings, they’d both still be there. If I hadn’t been so caught up with Daphne, trying to ensure I’d get laid later that night, maybe I would have reacted faster.
I push that thought aside. I was cleared. I did nothing wrong. Despite that though, this woman, a new widow who’d just lost her only child is standing in front of me wanting to know why I failed them when it was my job to save them.
“Please,” she said. “What happened?”
I absently rub at the blue ink that’s seared into my skin, burning like an accusation. Trying to wipe away the evidence. The woman wants to know everything I’ve swallowed down. Continue to swallow down. But admitting it would only compound her grief. Push her even further down into the dark hole she’s already in. Or maybe that’s just what I’m telling myself.
I’m drowning in my silence.
“Please,” she repeats.
I allowed myself to be distracted. One minute. And as a result, lives have been shattered. Forever altered. I was cleared. It wasn’t my fault.
But… it was.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
It was the best summer of my life. Until it wasn’t.
no subject
on 2025-12-18 02:31 am (UTC)The atmosphere in this is so wonderful and the sensory details off the charts. I lived this story and was right there with the mc. I felt his pain and lived his experience as I read this. And the same goes for the character of the mother. Her heartbreak was palpable and I could feel it so easily because of how effortlessly you set the scene and craft a story.
Absolutely amazing, you always leave me awed and inspired.
no subject
on 2025-12-22 07:33 pm (UTC)His parents and siblings never ..."got over it." Not that people get over death. But the shadow of regret lingers.
no subject
on 2025-12-23 07:40 pm (UTC)I absently rub at the blue ink that’s seared into my skin, burning like an accusation.
Such a perfect detail.
Very well done. *tips hat*
no subject
on 2025-12-23 08:43 pm (UTC)Thanks so much, HS! I'm so glad you liked the piece!
no subject
on 2025-12-23 08:46 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2025-12-23 09:15 pm (UTC)