Undisciplined creative trying to actually write at least 25% as often as I think about writing.
A Saltmarsh Survival Story
The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. At first glance, deceptively familiar—a barge composed of colorful shipping containers drifted against the white, encroaching sky, where dots of gulls swooped down and up again, pilfering from the brackish waters below. But the Port of Savannah’s modern strangeness was irreconcilable with her childhood memories. Swarms of mechanized dockbots and self-operating gantry cranes thudded and clinked in autonomous synchronicity, flaunting the ghostly obsolescence of their human forebears. The nose-burning adhesive smell of the old paper mill was absent from the salty marsh air. Even her late father's overseer cabin was unrecognizable.