She’s going down for the third time. She’s resigned herself to it. She’s even lost all color, as if she’s a ghost. The skeleton hairpin all but foretells her fate. The shot forms a veritable tombstone with an inglorious, mocking skull at the top in full command. Her tears are mixed with the sea that she is about to become one with. The foam around her forms a death shroud. The waves form an inescapable mountain range. The sun isn’t coming up, signaling rescue. That’s the moon shining down and illuminating her impending doom. Such a pretty girl. She had her whole life in front of her.
