Shifting Sands

Several years ago I had the pleasure of taking my first and only Creative Writing Class.  One of our short in-class assignments was to take a pleasant memory and write it as if it were a horror story without altering any of the details. 

high noon sun
baked sand
under their feet
cousins 4 and 8
bright plastic buckets in hand
aching call of the gulls
stranger at the pipe
where water flows clear
salt free
down to ocean’s taboo edge
they are not allowed to go down there alone
dangerous they are told
but adults distracted yards away
by their dime store novels
cryptic conversations
that bore them to tears
parallel digging with strange girl in the deep sand
few words exchanged
something about her eyes
building ephemeral castles
before knocking them down
and again
tired of this ritual
her 8 year-old eyes slide toward shore line
incoming tide hypnotizing
tugging at her navel
so tempting to drop her shovel
walk out where it isn’t allowed
stick her foot into the ice cold
Atlantic water
and just keep walking
no looking back
calling her home

© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All Rights Reserved


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