DEATH OF
THE AUTHOR

'A few weeks later I look again for the octopus, still hoping what I saw last time was not my first­‐sighted octopus, dead. I eventually find the original pool, find the same little crevice in the rock. I stare and stare, crouch down looking...a tentacle moves, feeling across the rock, a blink of its eyes, a glimpse of its breathing tubes...just like the rest of the surrounds, sand is scattered across the octopus’ head, glittering, clever."