| 0 | A pebble is thrown at an angle on top of a body of water. The pebble decides not to skip, but to instead descent towards the bottom of the basin. |
| 0 | Standing with my own two feet in the damp sand at 7:45 on a Tuesday Waiting for the seawater to crash onto my dehydrated skin – once again. |
| 0 | A glistening shadow asked me if I had ever seen the insides of a sea urchin. |
| 0 | One lone thistle that dreamt of growing fins, imprinted at the far edge of a large accumulation of sand, shriveled and withered. Caused by an even larger ball of fire, it stood no chance. |
| 0 | My father and I decide to seek out the storm. It’s pitch dark, which comes to no surprise (it’s after midnight). On top of the barrier, constructed to contain the flow of water, I gasp for air. |
| 0 | At the bottom of a body of water lays a second pebble. A pebble that did decide to skip on top of this body of water, but did not succeed in skipping more than three times consecutively. |
| 0 | Many hours spent walking on sun-dried coral cliffs in the deafening heat. I long for the coolness of fluids. I feel my flip-flops sliding off my feet. |
| 0 | My whole body is coated with a film of sweat. The sun is at its lowest and tide is nearing – yet I still decided to enter the blue room. Its beauty was both to die for and a death sentence. |