Writers Residency: A mechanical wave.

Ruth & Alexander

Ruth The tickling waves that tease the shore are powered by engines. The tides themselves are not aware of this or anything but their own beauty.

They only know, as they softly sigh, of their allure to the stones and rocks which they seductively caress, and the passing beasts they whisper to.

But of the mechanics in their midst they know nought. And though there are sometimes rumours of the truth, spoken low, skittering across the surface, the waters cannot abide this reality.

They scream loud and wild, and froth and foam to drown out and dash those revolutionaries words upon the floor. Deviant droplets and channels are cast out to remain in isolated rock pools.

The ring leaders, those ghouls are entirely excommunicated, with chlorine and fluoride, castrated, and sent to loiter in pipes and wells.

And the waves and tides and waters fall to further kiss the shores once more.