He drags the damp stick back and forth. So caught up in his task he barely hears the cry of gulls, hawking screeches that split the serenity of waves rumbling in repetitive frustration.
He works tirelessly, scarring the wet sand beneath his feet. Forging the lines and slashes that once were unfamiliar but now mean everything. Carving, till his fingers are raw and grains of fine sand coat his skin.
He stands back, his skin smelling of the ocean, admiring his labour lying there before him:
HARRISON 6.
Then the sea surges forward, hungrily obliterating everything.
Smiling, he begins anew.
Horrorshow over 5 years ago
Intriguing!
Bryan Thomas over 5 years ago
Nice!
imageronin over 5 years ago
thanks guys, appreciate your comments ...
K.Z. Morano over 5 years ago
i like the meaning in this one... and great descriptions :)
imageronin over 5 years ago
thanks for the feedback KZ! Really appreciated ... best IR