The Beach-Personal Narrative

Restless salty waters continuously reunite displaced grains of sand with their wet, mass body that constitutes the beach. The Blue recedes again, carrying off the flecks to cast them over the shore once more. The crests are pathetically low for a day on the Causeway. Shelter surrounds me as I watch the repetition out of the heat- breezes noisily siphon through the sizable shack, blowing bits of shortened hair to tickle my cheeks. Flat on the wood, I sit on a pillow displaced from colorful others spat in groups about the open-ended room, a drastic contrast to the slats of gray, worn driftwood surrounding my back. Here, I think about how this area was once for play. Days like this would have called for us to bring some floating object to surf, to lay, to spin, to jump off of- …show more content…
Everyone’s an idiot. Spend some time at it, will you. Maybe you can figure it out.” Thing is, I’ve had it figured for some time. I found the first message a few moon cycles past. I smuggled it home. Over the many years I’ve only been able to tuck away one thing from him- a book. From Before. By his law, a forbidden material. I could read, but it still took some time to take in all the words. Some I still don’t understand. But I’ve kept it, obsessed over my three secret collections: a message, a book, a mind. Once deciphered, I didn’t act on it. They wouldn’t trust me. How could they? I ignored it. Waiting to see if it would grow. If they were the ones that could do it. And now, they’ve been discovered. A defeat? Or imminent victory? Slipping behind his lower lip, his tongue puffed out the skin, and made a full rotation before speaking, “Brines have found their way on my territory. Those salty ingrates- they’re at the heart of it, I know it. They’re spreading stories about other islands- better lives out on the Blue. The people are eating it up. They just don’t understand what I do for them. They don’t see what I