she has a bottle in her hand
a ribbed bottle of mineral water
so much for that theory
Nausicäa would hardly be drinking H2Go

she squeezes a little of it on his lips
then, as they come apart
quite painfully
once more this isn’t dreamlike
but wholly physical
rough, harsh
full of rips & pains & tears

a trickle of liquid goes down his throat

He hawks & coughs
she moves to prop him up as he spits out phlegm
ugh gross
a part of him is yammering
nagging away as usual
but somehow distantly
less urgently than it has done for many days

Now that he’s sitting up, he looks around him
nothing very identifiable
sand, trees, rocks, a headland
your standard perfect beach
there are no other people on it
the girl is still behind him, propping him
what is she wearing?
something muumuu-like
her hair is loose & shoulder-length

He tries again:
– What’s your name?
– Have I been here long?
– I don’t know
I just came down & found you

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