I was a skinny, gangly 12-year-old kid with a bad haircut, sporting glasses held together by a Band-Aid and hope. At a California beach I heard but dismissed my mother’s warning, “Watch out for the undertow.” Too proud to acknowledge her concern, my one-hundred-pound body began rolling down the beach like an empty beer bottle on a windswept parking lot. “What an embarrassing way to die,” I thought, completing one final revolution before striking a man standing in two feet of water. Alive but my dignity stripped, I slunk back to my beach towel. My mom gave me a sandwich.
Rick Korst writes when a story hits him and his work can be found in Spillwords (2025 Author of the Year), The Last Line, Books & Pieces, and Horror Tree. “The Undertow” is the Editor’s Pick for our A WATERY WORLD contest, part of our 2026 Micromemoir Marathon.