Cold Hands

This piece of creative writing is for the purposes of the prompt challenge at Creative Writing Ink. Warning: it’s a bit dark.

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!

The breeze ruffled my hair as slipped across the sand, wrapping around me as though I were being caressed by some unknowable force. I allowed myself to lean back into it, eyes closed. It had been a long time since I’d been this close to the water. I could smell it in the air, the salt and the weed circling around me as if it was the sea, itself, that held me, its cold hands tight around me as I stared out across the open water.


Credit: Saúl Venegas 

Before the sun had crept behind the Western hills, leaving a slight chill in its in wake, it had been one of the hottest days of the summer. I’d watched the beach from my upstairs window, gazing at it hour after hour as the people swarmed it like little ants, each one desperate to dig their own nest in the sand. They’d splash about in the sea and run around on the sand, playing games and laughing. They were all families – couples – children – people with so much life yet to live.

I sighed, continuing my steady walk to the shore.

I stopped just high enough so the water couldn’t reach me; it lapped the sand in front of me, greedily drawing back the little stones and burying them in its depths. It took so many of those little stones; it was always hungry, gobbling them all up, but never satisfied. It was like the beach, itself; people were drawn to it like the stones were drawn to the water. They huddled around it, because that’s what they’d always done, then they would submerge themselves in the water, as if hypnotised.

Not wonder not all the stones would come back.

Some of them stayed under the surface too long, even when their mother screamed and yelled, her heart seeming to explode with panic.

I’d never see some of those stones again.

11252580_359405844252383_916526901_nI smiled, despite myself, as I stepped forwards, the cool water sending shivers up my spine. It’s always hungry, I thought again, as I walked further into its depths. It’s always here and it never stops: merciless… crushing. What would it feel like to be trapped in these waters, trying to fight the current, but being just too weak to stay adrift? How much fear would a person feel as they realised that they were never going to resurface? What would they think as they sunk into oblivion, never to be held by their mother – never to laugh or run around on the sand – ever again?

I wasn’t scared.

I smiled again, leaning back into the ocean’s caress as I let it guide me away from my pain. Never again would I see such monstrosity when I looked into its waters. Never again would I fear it, because I had become it.


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