Three Green Rocks lays abandoned on the ocean. The [fish], the [other fish], and the [other other fish] gone for the season. All dry-land goods, like flour and fruit, eaten or tossed rotten into the water. Blankets, cooking gear, and lanterns stowed in the rafters out of reach of even the highest tides or packed on canoes and taken back to their [seasonal] home. All gone except Trida.
Alone on the veranda encircling Three Green Rocks like a teak and crenelated skirt she looked Outward. Right now nothing wasn’t hers. She owned the rail she leaned on, she owned the deck below her feet, and she owned the entire fishing camp. She probably even owned the entire ocean. When this quiet day gracefully slipped into the water behind her and the spray of stars dared the black sky to wipe them clean she would own that too.
In the morning she would begin her dive-hunt. She would find a single [cool fish name] hidden among the purple anemones and coral. She would eat it’s pancreas raw. And she would kill the baby that grew inside her.
Day 239