12.01.2026
In response to: https://melissalemay.wordpress.com/2026/01/12/melissas-fandango-flash-fiction-challenge-355/
At the Water’s Edge
He did not rush.
The sand bore his weight without complaint, grains remembering him long after he stopped moving. Grass leaned in, curious but cautious, as if it knew this was a boundary moment—neither land nor water fully claiming him.
The water watched back.
Still. Green. Reflective.
He lowered his head slowly, reverently, as though greeting an older self. The surface trembled, just once, then settled. Two worlds touched—scale and ripple, breath and silence.
From afar, one might call him dangerous.
But danger is loud only when misunderstood.
Here, he was patience shaped like muscle. Survival carved in quiet. Time wearing a body.
He drank without haste, knowing the river would wait. Knowing the shore would still be there. Knowing power does not need to announce itself.
Somewhere beyond the grass, life hurried on— voices, clocks, footsteps chasing meaning.
At the edge of water and earth, the crocodile remained.
Unmoved. Unprovoked. Perfectly aware.
💫Maggie
The Afterlove Voice 💫
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