Iteration III

this is crap, but appropriately

July 24, 2007

The island was exactly sixty paces long in the morning, and shrank to as few as 58 paces by the time the sun touched the water on the far side. This happened gradually over the course of the day as he walked from shore to shore and back again. It was not much of a change, but it was something. One sunrise. One sunset. 450 round trips between them. One step gained for every 14,000 taken.

There were no tides and no waves in the water around the island, but somehow he knew he could never mistake it for calm. When the sun was at the right angles, the surface shone like a mirror, and the same face always reflected back when he leaned over from the shore. It was not his face, but he knew it. He was afraid to touch the water, though there had been no consequences on those occasions when he had not been able to help himself. His hand on the surface caused no ripples, and the reflection was unmoved.