5 minutes on the spot writing. [Using a photo of a pick-up truck on a beach.]

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Little Queen [That's what her father called her]wondered all about dry-land. Was it vast? Wasn't there other people? She'd heard her Dad talk about it. Every fine day little Queen would wander out to the pick-up truck half-submerged on the island's only beach and stare. She'd sit in the rotted, rusted truck-bed and stare 'til her eyes ached. Could she see anyone there? Was there anyone over there looking at her? Looking for her? Maybe her mother? But Dad said she was long gone and that they were well rid too. Except that didn't explain his moist eyes late at night staring at the photo of him and her on their wedding day. A photo with a thumb-print from him always holding it.

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