Where You Breathe, page 7 of 12

Pip floats alone in cold blue water inside a tall open column of pale light that comes down past him, small, loose-limbed and entirely at rest, his head tipped up into it.

The water opens, and holds, and asks nothing of him.

Pip breathes.

The sea goes through him like morning through a door.

Where you breathe, he thinks. Where you breathe.

© 2026 A.J.Sharpe