His shirt wrapped around me, keeping me warm against the chill, his blood in my veins, trying to protect me against the sickness, I sit huddled on the rocky top of the hill that gives me a view all the way to the sea.

I miss the sea. I miss swimming in its soothing, salty waters. I miss the solitude. I’d like to go back to the sea when I die.

We don’t talk about such things, my corporal and I. I know it hurts him.

chapter 68

from A Shattering of Glass

Ron’s photos of me, of the view from Mt Wellington, Tasmania, and a rock I photographed in our forest …. merged and worked in photoshop. Ron’s landscape photo showed the beautiful colours of the sky, sea and land, which I dulled to make the scene for the story.