The Beach and Her: A Short Story

I slowly walked across the beach, remembering her pretty face. It was as pretty as the sunset. Her dark chocolate eyes and honey blonde hair seemed perfect to me. Her tanned torso and chiseled legs were lovely. Tears began to flow from my eyes. I could not tell if it was from the sudden rush of feelings or the piercing smell of sea salt. It was the anniversary of her death. The crisp image of the F-150 coming at us hovered in my mind. Her swerving. Yelling. Screaming. It all flooded back into my memory as if it were...

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