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Post by KATHERINE ELIZABETH VALENTINE. on Sept 24, 2012 12:40:02 GMT -5
The summer beach-a-thon was an annual tradition around Carmel. It seemed to bring the dreary small town alive, people crowded the beaches and the smells of fried food and the sound of children's laughter filled the air. Parents took their children out to play in the sand and the sun, the local college kids favored the beer tent and lazed around on the beaches to garner a tan or messed around in the ocean. The whole environment seemed to buzz with an underlying sense of excitement, happiness and joy unmatched at any season filled the shore lines. Normally Kat was one to sit out of the festivities; as a child she had come to the beach often, memories of her smiling happy family with a picnic basket with anything they could rustle up floated through her mind and from the time of her mother's death onward the beach always had a bittersweet meaning to her. "That was eight years ago, Katie." She could hear her mother's voice, or what fragmented pieces she could remember from it. It's funny how when someone close to you passes away the first thing you seem to forget is the sound of their voice, it sat and lingered in your memory but you could never quite duplicate it correctly. A syllable was off here, the tone wasn't quite right, the gild to their laughter didn't quite hit that high note. Kat felt her chest constrict in the same manner it had time and time before, the grief seemed to overwhelm her despite the undiluted happiness of the afternoon. The sun blazed high in the sky, gulls chirped and chattered happily, the shouts of the surfing competitors from one another created a testerone fueled banter about who was going to win. Yet even such frolic could not qualm the aching in her chest, the burning in her soul. So instead she focused on the way the burning sand touched the tips of her toes despite wearing flip flops. Adjusting her sunglasses better onto her sloped nose she raised a hand to look out over the rolling waves of the ocean. Some guys seemed to surf pretty well, they made it look effortless and graceful while others teeter-tottered in the shallow end with a look of perpetual fear plastered to their faces. In one lucid moment Kat considered joining them, grabbing some poor dude on the beach and tempting him to teach her how to surf. Wasn't ever beach side resident suppose to know how to surf? However cliche that seemed, she fought back the bold notion, instead content to watch the surf relentlessly assault the brilliant sands and shield her eyes from the blinding rays of the sun. words: four hundred and fifty two words. outfit: click!comments: open for anyone. <3
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