53
The first sound was the wailing of her mother. The plane hummed gently in the distance, its low murmur drowned out by her mother’s sobs and the trickle of the water over the edges of the rocks.
Her father stood silent, his eyes locked onto the ground where his son had lain, the flickering blue of the ambulance lights playing off his now-pale features.
The paramedic closed the rear doors gently, delicately. In that moment, she wondered why. What was the point? It wouldn’t disturb him. It was too late. It had always been too late.
The sunlight danced across the water as it continued to roil and flow, as if oblivious to what had happened. The birds kept singing. The crickets kept chirruping. The trees kept swaying. It was as if nothing had happened, as though the world carried on witho
