025.01 MARTINA – Grey Shores Sep 13 at 13:00 – 16:00

Sep 13 The oblique afternoon sun massages the water into golden rings that dissolve one after another. The air smells of freshly mown grass; the earth is both cool and burning at once. In the reflection, a second sky can be caught – silver and motionless. A wave rises and the mirror closes, returning only ordinary blue without a promise. Accreditation (QR) — Prague SwimCheck Attendance 12:45 | Start 13:30 | Lane […]

13.9.

The oblique afternoon sun massages the water into golden rings that dissolve one after another. The air smells of freshly mown grass; the earth is both cool and burning at once. In the reflection, a second sky can be caught – silver and motionless. A wave rises and the mirror closes, returning only ordinary blue without a promise.

Accreditation (QR) — Prague SwimCheck

Attendance 12:45 | Start 13:30 | Lane 4 — Tom | Lane 5 — Viktor

The QR code fluttered on the display as if it too were suffering from pre-race jitters.

MARTINA

The gray-blue sky breaks across the surface, the riverbank beneath the railway bridge breathes with damp concrete. Veronika sets up the tripod, but doesn't press REC. I hold a cup of matcha and watch the current. In the distance, Iris shines a ring light onto the surface like a lantern. Swans cross the river, and I can see Veronika imagining something – her face lights up with a smile for the first time since last night. She rests her chin on her hands and watches the green-brown foam of the Vltava.

“Low light isn't darkness,” I remark.

Veronika writes in her diary: “Silence counts too.” Then she stares for a moment at what she's already written. It's quite a lot.

The river looks like it's flowing backward. The cup exhales steam, and Veronika warms her hands against it. I notice her shiver slightly.

Iris turns around with her phone, chattering into the chat.

I raise an eyebrow: “Content on steroids.”

We both burst out laughing. And then we decide it would be better to go practice cliff diving than pay attention to Iris.

Veronika's phone beeps with a text. She checks it quickly, relief washing over her face. “Zuzajda is stable,” she says quietly. Another message: her brother asking when she'll be home. And then another one – from her mother. I watch her toss it into the trash without reading it. She hesitates for a moment, ends up reading it, and shakes her head with a bitter smile. She proved herself right to delete it in the first place.