Paper Thin
A short story
It was the strangest place she had ever seen, and she wasn’t sure she was seeing it now. The walls were there and not there, paper thin, an ageing white, and six inches thick. They reached as high as library walls would in a disney film and were free from markings or dereliction.. Yet they seemed older than anything her grandmother could have remembered.
She stepped into the foyer and a young man eagerly approached to stand across from her, wordlessly welcoming her to the home and beckoning for her to follow him out through the house and out onto a stretch of deep, bright green grass, flowers strewn in growing streams towards the edges of the place, gathering in pretty bunches, here and there, swaying in the warm pacific breeze.. It must have been the pacific..
At the edge of earth and rock, she saw him step toward the water and then, looking back only for a moment, he ran, taking leaping steps into the clear, blue water that, as she approached, was deeper than it seemed from amid the flowers. He raced ahead, hair blowing in the wind. Curiously, she felt herself drift toward the open water, watching him openly, then looking down. She was half in the water, it was silky and…
