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 yesterday. I remember seeing her body lying on the road. I ran over to her side and kneeled down, noticing a small stream of blood running down from a wound on her forehead, while that same deathly color emitted from her nose and right ear. She looked up at me with all her heart before whispering her final words, “I love you.” Those words echoed through my head now as the water from the ocean nipped at my heels.

The sand contoured to my feet, some getting caught between my toes. The last rays of the sun shone dimly. The smell of the salt was beginning to make me feel nauseating. Palm trees lined the coast, full of their huge leaves that reminded me of ancient, Egyptian kings and queens. That is what she was: a queen. My queen.

The last light penetrated above the horizon, and then the darkness fell rapidly. It was as if a blanket had just been thrown over Earth. We always talked of setting out on the beach, on a towel, with champagne glasses and a picnic basket, just enjoying the view and the company of one another. I looked down at my filthy feet as I realized this would never happen. I could feel my emotions swelling once again. Finally, I burst. I could hold it in no longer. The tears began to fill my eyes and I fell to my knees, the ocean rushing onto my lean body. I looked up to the heavens, screaming at God, asking Him why. Why her? Why me? The waves continued to strike me, but I was uninterested in the water. My pain was too strong.

I slowly got back onto my feet. The breeze made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and it shivered down my spine and through my entire body. I decided I would do what I came here to do. I reached into the front pocket of my shirt and retrieved the waterlogged rose petal, and raised it up to my lips, gently kissing it. Then, a small wind grabbed the petal from my outstretched hand and swirled it around me before bringing it out to the ocean, the place she had always wanted to be buried. She once told me if she were to die before me she wanted to be pushed off into the ocean and petals spread onto her floating coffin. I did my best Cassidy Grace Highland.



Written as an assignment for my English IV class at Northwood High School, in 2011.

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