I'm not aware of Blossom until she leans past me and tosses something into the sand. I watch, horror only growing by the moment, when the small bit of cloth she threw begins a slow and yet inexorable journey to the center of the vortex.

Not one of us moves or even seems to breathe while the scrap of fabric finally makes the final turn and disappears into the middle of the circling sand, popping under as if swallowed, the steady hissing of the particles rubbing against each ...