part 2

The sand was colder than Celeste had imagined it would be when squished between her toes at the bottom of the deck. With the when and where decided, it was really only a matter of how. There were still plenty of tropical colored pills in her bag upstairs, knives in the kitchen, fresh linens that could be twisted into navy-blue and off-white colored braids. The twin bed sheets with the little anchors in the spare bedroom would make quite a fashionable hanging rope, she thought. But no, Celeste had chosen her private beach house for a very specific reason, and as she watched the strong waves pound furiously on the shore the ‘how’ became more and more clear.

Celeste had never been much of a writer. Her expertise was seeing the words on the page, memorizing them, and bringing them to life when the camera rolled. The right starlet, in the right location, at the right time was the type of lightening in a bottle Celeste knew how to capture. For her most recent scene, she just needed the perfect script; the right words to make her audience miss her when she was gone. She wanted tears. She wanted apologies. Then she would return.

The paper crinkled under her hands as the wind blew small tornadoes of sand over her bare feet. Celeste could hardly believe herself that after the millions she has spent on footwear alone, she was about to pretend to die shoe-less  But, she had been told the most worthy sacrifices were often made in the name of art. Pulling the pen from her dress pocket she scrawled in exaggerated bubble lettering. Her words were short enough to fit multiple mediums; the caption of a black and white picture or an epitaph on a tombstone.

With her final thoughts completed, Celeste got to her feet and sunk into the moist grains for a few seconds before setting her sites on the ocean, prepared to create the illusion that it had swallowed her whole. Tucking the letter into an envelope, she wedged it between the railings of the wooden steps then walked slowly towards the roaring waves.

This was about to be her finest theatrical moment. But, somehow, in all her planning, the one thing Celeste had not accounted for logistically was the power of an unforgiving undertow combined with a stomach full of muscle relaxers.

The tabloids called her reckless, unbelievable, dead.

With her final thoughts completed, Celeste got to her feet and sunk into the moist grains for a few seconds before setting her sites on the ocean, prepared to create the illusion that it had swallowed her whole. Tucking the letter into an envelope, she wedged it between the railings of the wooden steps then walked slowly towards the roaring waves.

This was about to be her finest theatrical moment. But, somehow, in all her planning, the one thing Celeste had not accounted for logistically was the power of an unforgiving undertow combined with a stomach full of muscle relaxers.

The tabloids called her reckless, unbelievable, dead.

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