In the midst of a sunny summer day, I watched the glistening crystal ocean stretch on for what seemed to be eternity. I felt the ocean mist splash on my face as droplets tickled my arms. I softly breathed in the salty ocean breeze that felt surprisingly refreshing as the sound of soft rumbling echoed on the sandy shore. For what I thought was water, all I could taste is a strange mix of salt and copper. My mind slowly wondered to Sarah. The one I missed and the one I loved. My mind was filled with the first day that I had met her. The most striking feature about her were her eyes.
Her eyes were as crystal blue as the ocean...
She had a smile that could charm the devil and a look that could kill an angel. I watched her carefully- much like how a hunter stalks his prey. I watched her whimsically danced on the edges of the beach and splashed water all around. She hummed a certain cheerful movie tune that I felt like I could listen to for hours. As I sat besides the shore, skipping pebbles on that never ending ocean, she came prancing along my way. I acted like any young man who just saw a potential love of his live- or at least a very attractive young girl. I straightened up my back, puffed my chest out, and pretended to do something manly- like skipping rocks. Our eyes locked onto each other once for a moment before I quickly looked away. She then disappeared.
A light puff of air grazed my neck. Though I didn't see her, I felt her hovering over my shoulder. On that hot summer day, I felt fucking Hades open up right there as my face nearly explode. If she noticed me continuously staring at her, I knew that she would call me a freak or at the very least a guy-who-was-touched-on-the-head. I waited for her to say something; anything to at least relieve me of the tension.
“What's on the other side of the ocean?” She politely asked.
Almost immediately, I apologized, “Sorry,” paused and asked, “What?”
“What's on the other side of the ocean?” She politely asked once again.
“I don't know. More ocean?” I joked, though I really had no idea.
She laughed. “You're funny,” she said as she plopped a seat right next to me. She swept her long, auburn hair to the side and looked into my eyes. I felt that heaven could have taken me right there. She stuck out an arm and introduced herself.
“I'm Sarah.”
I shyly responded, “I'm Darian.”
As I felt that this could be the beginning of something, she stated, “Isn't Darian a girl's name?” My heart sank as the girl that I suddenly had a crush for essentially called me unmanly. As much as I wanted to defend myself, at the very least preserve my good name, I blankly stated, “I guess it is.”
As we sat there watching the ocean together, she asked, “Do you know who John Keats is?”
“Yeah. Who doesn't?” I responded.
“You know, you're the first one to know who he is.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
She looked out onto the ocean. We sat there once again in this agonizing silence for what felt like an eternity and a half. I watched her carefully again. She brushed her hair again and looked away in deep contemplation. Our eyes met once more.
She brashly declared, “I like you.”
That's how our first meeting started. In my youth and little worldly experience, I would try to concoct a story out of what I heard about our family history or overly exaggerate the first times of anything I have done. I thought that this would bore most people, but for her, she was different. Her eyes would lock onto mine and she would have expressions that seemed to empower me. Her energy would be so boundless that I felt that I could go for hours. I could tell my words somehow changed her.
I left that summer, promising to write whenever I had the chance or could think of a story to share. I'd write to her about what kinds of things there were to do in Burlington like going to the local dime store or people watching. She would enjoy my descriptions of the people here more than anything else. Sometimes, I'd have nothing to say, but she was even fine with nothing at all. We would send letters back and forth about nothing at all, but for some reason, it was the most interesting thing in the world. Every time I received a response, I would feel a little ecstasy and had an almost dependency on the next letter that she would send. For the first time in my entire life, I was in love.
***
The first person I met at boot camp was Jimmy. I hadn't realized that all the time I spent writing and staying aloof in general had made me physically weak. Actually, I knew I was pretty damn weak, but I didn't want to admit it. After Sarge essentially made me eat mud for two hours, I remembered laying, dead tired, in that torrent of rain. After everyone left, Jimmy waltzed on over and offered a hand. I gladly accepted. He was a good kid and everyone knew it. While the rest of us were grabbed by Uncle Sam in our thirties, Jimmy volunteered just as he came out of high school. He was a star quarterback and captain of everything that ever existed- the kind of person that you knew was going to go somewhere in life and he was stuck here with the rest of us rejects. As he picked me up from the mud, he slung his arm around my neck.
He looked at me and said, “You know he just wants to build you up.”
I chuckled, “I know, that's what I'm worried about.”
Jimmy laughed as we both headed off to the mess hall. When we got there, the rest of the squad had already sat down for dinner, but they were all just waiting for us to get back. I looked down the table. Handy, a twenty-seven year old car mechanic; Smokes, our olympic grade A potshot; There was Johnny who lived, breathed, and ate everything that was gangster culture; Hank, a 35 year old overly doting father of two; and Sarge, the biggest hard-ass I've ever known. There were a lot more, but for some reason, they all kind of melded together or disappeared. They were all good guys in their own way- except for Johnny, he was just an asshole.
We all quietly looked at our garbage of a meal. Sarge always forced everyone to pause a bit for anyone who prayed. Most of the guys were Catholic, a few were Protestant, then there was Smokes who was a Jew. The reason why we waited on them wasn't because Sarge was religious, if anything he hated religion, but he respected us. He wanted to make sure that no one was alienated for any reason and whenever there was some heat between us, he'd make sure that it was resolved. Resolved meant a number of things- sometimes talking, sometimes arguing, but more often than not, fist fighting. As insane of a drill sergeant he seemed to be, he was someone who actually cared about his men and wanted to make sure we were a unit. I felt as if they were, in a way, my family. I cared for them and they cared for me. That was until I showed them a photo of Sarah- then they only cared about Sarah.
I had a photo of her on me at all times. She was my life and the most important thing to me. There was another photo of her I hid at all times. It was her dirty photo she sent me during her modeling years- and of course someone found that.
***
Her eyes were as crystal blue as the ocean. Her long chestnut hair endlessly flowed down the nape of her neck. She looked absolutely amazing and I stood there like an idiot watching her walk down her driveway. I almost believed that she were on a date with some other guy because it wasn't even conceivable that someone like her would go out with someone like me. I remember the night smelled like lemon grass and I could hear the soft chirping of crickets in the night.
She was one of her only friends to finish high school and one of the only girls who didn't marry off yet. Though she never said it, I could feel that she was slowly being pressured by her family and friends to either marry or at least learn some kind of typewriting skills. Her parents looked at me through the window with eyes of extreme desperation. Even I felt pressured by them.
I told them that we were going out to dinner, the usual fare of a burger joint and a night of dancing. What I didn't tell them- or her, was that we were going to a speakeasy. Word had it that it was safe from the police since it was run by the legendary Al Capone's group. I wasn't even sure if she would be willing to spend the night away in a frivolous club filled with the worst and best of them. Every step of the way, there were moments where the plan seemed completely unfathomable and other times where the plan seemed like the only right thing to do. The biggest problem was that she would never drop a bomb of all her problems on me- not that I didn't mind that.
I finally came upon a split in the road. One led to a night of alcoholic debauchery and the other led to a safe, typical night. It only took one look at Sarah before the choice became obvious. She seemed a little too content with how life was treating her- as if she found a crack in the road called life and she dug herself in. She didn't need me to find her crack; I was just some other person who shared the same crevice as her. She may have been content with where she was, but I was, sure as hell, not happy with where she was. The point was not to become some crusader or knight from antiquity who will gallantly come on a alabaster horse, but someone who can provide a little punch to life. I selfishly needed to be needed.
She saw the road that we would normally take pass her by as we drove off into another direction. Almost as if a spell had been broken, she quickly perked up and looked around.
Concerned, she stated, “Darry, I think you missed the road.”
I merely smirked and said, “Honey, don't worry. We've found a new one.”
It was a night of absolute grandeur. Alcohol seemed to flow like a raging river and kegs upon kegs more were continuously being rolled in. The second I brought her to the speakeasy, she instantly latched onto me and sent no sign of letting go. She looked as if she were in a completely different world. I watched her hesitantly loosen her grip before she began dancing off into this world of lights, Canadian liquor, and free sex. As she turned around, a small puff of warm air left her lips before she turned those precious crystal blue eyes on me. For the first time in a long while, they seemed to sparkle with life and excitement.
***
“Was it illegal? Sure. Was the night a giant blur? Yes. Did her dad nearly kill me with a baseball bat? Good thing he missed. Was it worth it? Of course.”
“Damn boy, you got some balls you know that?” Smokes commented.
Sarge shouted, “Dante, Smokes, shut the hell up and get ready. We dust our feet in two minutes. Check your rifles and your helmet- and your pants.”
Johnny shouted, “Should have said that first Sarge.”
Everyone laughed. It was all just a little peace before what was to come. Fresh out of training and thrown into North Africa, we really had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. All we knew was that these bad German guys decided to cause a huge shit storm in Europe and we're here to clean it up. God knows what we're doing in the sunny part of hell.
Jimmy looked like he was just about to pass out either from the heat or fear while Handy was tinkering with his gun- I figured that was his own way of coping with this. My hands were dripping in sweat and my heart slowly beat louder and louder like a drum in a Tchaikovsky piece. It wasn't until the truck stopped that I realized something: that sound wasn't my heart, it was mortar shells landing all around us. The second I jumped off the back of the halftrack, I stood there frozen. Hundreds of men in green were running across the field all fighting another few hundred men in gray. As horrifying at it looked, it looked like an ant farm. The kind of things that I had when I was twelve and tried to egg two sides to fight each other. As I stood there, Sarge yanked me to the ground. Bullets etched the sky above while the nearby halftrack was a burning husk of flesh and metal. It took me a moment to register what just happened. Guys like me, Jimmy, Smokes- all of us, died in an instant and I was just standing there like an idiot watching. Maybe it was survivor's guilt- that feeling of self-blame, but I also knew that I couldn't do anything. As the smoke plumes nearly ate covered me, I saw blood splattered across the sand. At this point I wasn't even sure whether the sand was really naturally red and if not, how many it took to get to that point. In a daze, I barely crawled into the trench and looked around. Everyone was scared. None of us knew what was going on or even what war was, but all we knew was that we were in the middle of it.
That first night, we barely made it out. Sarge had a bullet in his shoulder, but that was because he threw himself at the Germans while the rest of us hid in the trenches and I never felt more useless in my entire life- my stomach churned at my own lack of courage. We sat around a kerosine burner that night and just stared at it. The only sound was occasional gunfire and flares being fired into then night sky. In a weird way, it was serene. With colors of red and green flying into the night sky and the sounds of light popping, it almost felt like the fourth of july at the beach.
***
Her eyes were as crystal blue as the ocean. As tears trickled down her almost cotton white cheeks, she had a smile that could brighten even the darkest of nights. As for how she was feeling, she seemed to experience every emotion all at the same time. Her glowing red lips showed joyfully smiles and twitches of hesitation, her crystal blue eyes sank from fear and bounced around in shock, and her powdered nose rapidly sucked air in relief and exhaled in exhaustion. Even now- especially now, she was the most beautiful.
I was on that same beach that we had first met, and met many times after. That same beach with its all too familiar perfect white sand and nostalgic crashing waves. The only thing that was different now was that I was no longer standing or sitting, I was on one knee, kneeling. In my hand was a ring that I had spent months upon months asking her friends and family about. In my hand was a ring that showed her who I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.
I knew it. We were no longer young children skipping along a beach and no longer were we irresponsible young adults with the world in front of them. Everyone knew a war was coming, much like the war of yesteryear, and I wanted to make sure that she knew how I felt about her. I wanted to tell Sarah that she was my everything because after her, I wanted nothing more in life.
“Sarah Taylor White. Will you marry me?” I had said.
She paused. I swore that it took at least a good ten minutes before I heard even a pip from her lips- then she took ten more minutes.
I repeated, “Will you-”
She cut me off and shouted, “Yes. Yes! I'll marry you!”
I wasn't the kind of man who wanted those overly elaborate weddings with about ten people I knew and a thousand I had never met. Sarah- that was her dream for every waking moment and there was no way that her wedding shouldn't be how she wanted it to be.
Violets, her favorite flowers, lined every square inch of the cathedral and white banners cascaded down the walls. Every person was lined up in perfect order and there we stood at the alter with her childhood priest talking to her. Something about this all, the crying parents, the line of bridesmaids and groomsmen, the extravagance that was only matched by Al Capone's speakeasy, felt right. I looked straight into Sarah's crystal blue eyes and tried to catch my breath. I couldn't believe it that the woman I loved ever since I was a child was standing in front of me at our wedding.
The second I said, “I do,” tears formed at the sides of my eyes. Keeping in those tears was like an uphill battle that grew increasingly harder. She showed a mischievous smile as if she were going to harangue me for the rest of our years about this day- which she probably would. The day that I, not Sarah, cried at the wedding, but then it was impossible to keep it in when the future seemed so bright. Growing old, enjoying life together with children who they themselves would eventually have children, then those children would have children. The idea of starting a new family and a new life all began here. This was utopia.
***
After spending a few months in North Africa, we kind of grew use to the usual business of going out and fighting, coming back and sleeping. None of us talked about how we felt the first night. Inside, everyone was still a little different from the person they use to be, but it was something we had to do. We all had our own demons to face, but at least this one was something we could fight together.
“Marriage is the greatest thing a man can be a part of.” I preached to Jimmy who eagerly listened. He saw my story as the archetype to a successful life and a happy marriage. Jimmy would tell us all about this sexy blonde broad who he left back at home.
“She's my high school sweetheart,” he'd say. It was adorable.
Johnny cut us off saying, “Marriage is shit,” he continued, “You're stuck with the same broad for the rest of your life. That's great and all, but think about it. No girls, no booze, and what happens if your wife is one of those temperance movement religious types? You know you're dealing with a class A prude. Who the hell wants that?”
“Put a sock in it Johnny.” Handy responded.
Hank added, “Yeah, you know you gotta settle down eventually. I guess it's better to settle down now then later right? Plus, there's something about having a couple kids that makes life worth living for.”
Johnny responded, “Your life is your life. Not your kids old man. Nothing wrong with sleeping around instead of getting chained by your bitch of a wife and dumb ass kids.”
Hank quickly stood up from his sleeping sack and looked like he was going to shove the wrong end of the bayonet in Johnny's jaw.
“Don't you talk about my family like that. Say that again and so help me God I will personally make sure every Goddamn kraut will use you for shooting practice.”
“Oh really? Is that right you fucking Polack?”
“Shut up. Shut up!” Jimmy shouted.
It felt like the tension in the air could be cut with a pair of scissors. As far as I was concerned, if Jimmy wasn't there, those two would have killed other a long time ago. Sarge stopped giving a shit after the first ten times, but Jimmy always tried. I liked Jimmy, I liked him a lot. He's the kind of guy that if I had met earlier then I would have made him my best man. He seemed so much more pure than the rest of us guys- almost like a little kid. The rest of the night, as much as we tried, remained hot,
During the morning, we were stuck in a burning hell. Temperatures reached around the hundreds and water was quickly running out. I looked up at the sky and saw strange hued clouds tumbling in the sky with flashes of lightning arcing around. As if a truce were reached, both sides ceased fire and looked on with hope that rain would fall. Heaven answered their cry.
***
Her eyes were as crystal blue as the ocean. Her eyes were as crystal blue as the ocean. Her tears trickled down like raindrops on a somber day in April and the droplets stained the sidewalk only to disappear a few seconds later. As I recall, it was a hot day- hotter than any other day. Her sweat made her sun dress stick to her body and as tense as it was between us, I felt oddly lustful for her.
“Don't go.” She asked.
“I have to.” I begrudgingly sighed.
“Things won't be the same without you.”
“I'll come back.”
She closed her eyes. Those were the words she didn't want to hear; those were the words of someone who had a chance of dying; the words of someone willing to die; the words of someone who might not come back. She parted her hair to the side and struggled to smile.
She looked at my newly gained physique from basic training and said, “You look good," with her eyes slowly being enveloped by her hair either accidentally or purposely.
I merely peeped, “You've always looked good.”
“Oh stop it.” She joked as her voice trembled.
She didn't dare give up even a sliver of hope that she could convince me to abandon my grandiose and romanticized views of the army. I've read far too many poems and books about the honor of battle or the joys of exploring new lands to give up this opportunity. She saw the burning passion in my eyes- that gentle bloodthirst that coursed through my veins. Those gentle eyes looked on with concern. Her once explosively enthusiastic body was nothing more than a mere husk of it's previous self. It is at this time that I saw her very petite figure crumple in despair. Her normally rosy red cheeks were pale white and her crystal blue eyes slowly glazed over. Suddenly, her eyes burst into her usual vibrant colors.
She pleaded, “Run away with me.”
I remained silent. I felt cold-hearted and empty next the girl who once emboldened both my heart and my mind. She already knew the response I would give. My uniform was getting wet- the olive drabs turning into a more forest green. The only thing I could hear was the tinkling of rain drops on our kind old neighbor's, Mr. Hersh, oddly xylophone shaped gutters. Normally, I would find this tolerable and barely flirting with the line of disgust. Only this time- I found it strangely soothing. The entire world was more beautiful the second I left it.
We both watched the loading boat, that enormous titanic of a ship, lazily bellow smoke as the engine was preparing to churn on. There was a loud whistle in the air; informing all who cared- and didn't care. I shouldered my knapsack and shuffled towards a trolley filled with boisterous young men who had not a care in the world. It was where I would both feel at home and homesick.
She looked at me with a pair of shimmering crystal eyes, like that of an old doll. She bravely smiled radiantly.
She shouted, “When you come back, tell me a story. The greatest story in the world.”
“I'll tell you one even better.” I responded.
***
Jimmy told me about how he spent his first fourth of July with this broad from his school. She wasn't the prettiest girl, nor was she the most feminine, but according to Jimmy, she was a good girl. As popular as Jimmy was, he was a good six foot four and the girls around him were five foot nothing, except for this one. Jimmy slammed down his beer mug.
After North Africa and Sicily, we stumbled upon a bar in the middle of the bad side of Brighton, England. All we knew was that we were going to be a part of some grand operation to finally take back fortress Europe. I looked at an empty ash tray where Smokes was sitting. Unlike most of the guys, he gave up smoking in Sicily, but he was miserable as hell. Hank was sent back home to get a few medals and became one of the poster children to show how heroic an average joe could be. The last time I heard from him was that he was giving the MPs hell to get back over to us. Sarah sent me a clip of Hank in the newspaper and as much as we loved the guy, we felt like we lost him. Johnny was broken the most. With all of their fighting, he had no one else to direct his anger on and changed. Johnny dropped the gangster attitude and would ask me what marriage was like. It looked to me like Hank was Johnny's hero.
After drinks we all decided that we were going to celebrate what we called the last good night of our lives. After England, we knew we were probably going to be stuck in some damn ditch in some French countryside. At least over on this side of the channel, we could speak English, eat warm meals, and have hot and cold showers. God knows what we were going to have to do over there.
After an entire night of drinking, we all wandered over to the Channel where we watched ships loading and unloading. We sat there on that beach and watched the sun slowly rise. At some point we began skipping stone across the river.
“You ever wonder... why we're here?” Jimmy asked.
“Jesus Jimmy, didn't take you for one of those philosophical types,” responded Smokes.
Jimmy continued, “I mean why we're here fighting Hitler. Why we're not at home.”
“Yeah. Cause some Japs decided to bomb the hell out of us and Hitler loves those Japs.” Johnny interjected. Everyone was silent. The answer was acceptable.
Jimmy asked, “You know that first night?”
“Thought we said we weren't going to talk about it,” I mentioned.
“Yeah- but.”
Smokes cut Jimmy off, “Jimmy no.”
“I realized though.”
Smokes restated, “Jimmy cut it out.”
“Let the man talk.” Johnny said.
Jimmy brashly explained, “I realized- I enjoy it. I'm enjoying what we're doing. I've never enjoyed anything more in my life than this and I know it's wrong.”
There was a long pause. Everyone just kept looking forward and didn't even bother to look at Jimmy. Handy broke the silence.
“It ain't wrong,” he said and continued, “I'm enjoying it too. It's who we are. No point in changing that. We all enjoyed it- killing.”
I merely peeped, “Yeah.”
The other guys voiced their approval of what Handy had said. The hardest thing for us to do was to come to terms with what we were. We were monsters at this point and there was no way to change that- but then again, we didn't want to change it.
***
Her eyes were as crystal blue as the ocean. We both sat on the edge of the beach during our honeymoon. Despite being the one time in our lives we could go crazy with each other, we both decided that it would be best if we spent it on the beach- where we first met. I didn't know how I could explain how I felt during that time. As simple as it sounds, the girl of my dreams was married to me and we were on the journey of life together. What more could I want? We were both pretty drunk seeing as we came stumbling from one of the local bars I remembered from the past. The ocean was just as beautiful as it always was.
Sarah sighed a heavy sigh as she wondered about the looming threat of war hanging over our heads. Europe was ablaze with conflict and in my back pocket was my army draft paper. Sarah's tiny frame shook with every sigh and heave. She wrapped her tiny arms around her legs and curled up into a ball. I remembered the sand on the beach- how it fell slowly through my feet. The wind being blocked by the large sand dunes with the little tuffs of grass on top.
“You know what's amazing?” She childishly asked.
“What?” I responded.
She quickly stood up, brushed the sand from her legs, and skipped off to a sand dune.
“These are really weak.” She stated.
I was rather amused to see how she would justify those majestic sand dunes being weak objects compared to her tiny frame. She smirked. She could tell that I was half mocking her. She climbed up the largest sand dune- more like a large hill than anything else. It took for what seemed like half of eternity to do it. She finally stood at the top of it triumphantly.
“Catch me.” She ordered as she devilishly smiled.
I stood up wondering what on earth she was about to do. Nevertheless, I came close; getting ready to catch her at a moment's notice. She wrapped her soft hands around the tuff of grass at the top of the sand dune and pulled as hard as she could. She ripped it off. The sand dune began collapsing all around as if it were no different than the sand on the beach. She jumped off- her dress dancing in the wind and her eyes glowing in the glint of the sun. I caught and embraced her tightly. She gave me a kiss- a reward.
The second I let her go, she planted herself onto the pristine white beach once more. She looked into my eyes and asked, “What's on the other side of the ocean?”
I thought for a second. “Metaphorically or literally?” I inquired.
“Good response Mr. Poet!” She joked. She continued, “Both.”
I pondered for a second to where we were in comparison to the rest of the world, but seeing as I never really was the wunderkind at Geography, I wasn't too sure. I estimated and responded, “Literally I'd say it's Europe somewhere, probably France.”
“I'd like to go there someday.” She sighed. For a moment I thought that maybe I read her wrong- that I didn't actually choose the right place to go for a honeymoon. Thought I was worried, she relieved me of my fears by simply resting her head on my shoulder. She think she sensed my worry and murmured, “Thanks for this,” into my ear. Her soft whisper calmed me almost immediately.
I told her, “I'd like to go there someday too.”
“Do you think that the beaches on France are as nice as this one?” She asked.
I assured her, “Probably just as nice.”
She continued, “How about metaphorically?”
“I'll tell you when I find out.” I sheepishly responded. Her eyes locked onto mine as her golden hair slowly swallowed up my shoulder like vines in a manor. “I'll be waiting until then.” She responded.
***
As I look onto the shore, I really think that the beaches on France are just at nice as the beaches that I sat on with Sarah. The beach is filled with the same alabaster white sand and the ocean is just as pristine and crystal blue. If I could, I would like to send her a letter with a package filled with this sand. I would imagine she would be extremely jealous of the views that I saw daily. The time under the North African sun as I watched those majestic sandy hills or the city life in England or even those long days I would have to spend in the Parisian countryside. I would tell her about the boisterous crashes from the shore that come and go with the waves. About how even the rocks here teemed with life that would make one truly appreciate nature.
I looked at Jimmy, Sarge, Handy, Smokes, and Johnny, but they were too focused on what was happening ahead of them than to have time to look at me. They looked so focused on what was in front of them than to be able to see the beauty of nature that I almost pitied them. Jimmy laid there, hands tightly gripped on his weapon, and a look of concern permanently painted on his face like an priceless mural.
I wanted to tell Sarah about the truth- about how I hated every living day out in a world where I cared little about. I wanted to tell her about the discussion me and the guys had right before we would have to land on the beaches. About how I have killed far greater men than I would have ever saved- how I wished that I could go back into her arms and give her a kiss; a kiss on those sweet lips. I was greedy. I wished this and far more. I wished that I could tell her the greatest story in the world- the story of us, the one of Sarah and I- but I, I could not. I could barely manage to pull out a sheet of paper that wasn't drenched in sea water. I carefully extracted a pen from my breast pocket. Making certain that none of the precious ink was lost along the moist parts of my uniform. I know Jimmy, Sarge, Handy, Smokes, and Johnny would all come around me someday- just to talk about out lives once more, but I feel that they have begun making adventures of their own.
As we stormed the beaches of Normandy, I saw tuffs of grass being pulled from the large sand dunes. One by one until all that remained was the empty husks of what they once were. I carefully moved my body to see the sea where thousands upon thousands will tread. I could barely raise my hand and write on the paper- hoping that Sarah would find it. I wrote:
.
I'll be on the other side of the ocean.
