Here's a story in its first stages of development, I will post the next version soon.
Sand Castles
June awakes in her satin cerulean gown slouching. She rubs her weary eyes gently and then notices the hotel’s red laced curtain in front of her letting in the velvet sunlight. One is up to the very top of the ceiling revealing the crisp sky and the pearl beach, while the other is still down masking it, as if the world is still half-asleep. A young man is attempting to pull his faded jeans above his dark ass at the edge of the bed. He lifts each leg into the leggings very quietly, so not to awake her, until he sees she is up already—the white sheet covers her body up to her neck. He glances back and offers her a careless smile. She ignores him, pulling the sheets off her and stretching her exhausted arms way above her head. She rises and walks in front of the mirror near the bed. She stares, noticing a few more gray hairs extended from the blonde bunch. She pulls at them, one by one, and then rubs her skin. A few wrinkles appear in-between her fingers. She gasps as she notices her eye color fading, pulling at her cheek to get a better look.
“Did you sleep well?” He asks curiously.
His voice startles her. His tanned chest is tight as he pulls his thin white shirt over it. She nods, walking causally towards the television, slapping the on-button, and then creeping towards the large windows looking out towards the beach. The newscasters’ voice scratches the room while she leans her wrinkled face on the cool windowpane.
“It is so beautiful today!” He continues, “I am so happy to have run into yesterday at the bar, you are not too big of a drinker though.” He says, with an ignorant smile.
Her eyes gaze out onto the lush sand. It resembles a golden quilt extending towards the aqua, clear water in the distance. A lone palm tree meagerly sways as the breeze pushes it north, then south. A couple quickly chases each other towards the ocean from another hotel room, laughing gaily, playfully batting their hands away from each other, kicking up chunks of the ground, and then embracing lovingly as they collide into the waves. The tide sloshes onto the yellow rug as a few jet boats skid across in the distance. A towering dark hill looms drearily to her right.
“If you want, I could show you around.” He comments slyly, “There are tons of things we could do, like scuba dive, or jet-ski, or…”
He goes on as she decides to concentrate on the news. She has been away for some time, so it would be nice to see what is going on in the market. She turns up the dial as he is still changing and talking.
“Looks like it is going to be another cold winter in Chicago, Jim! Thanks, Mark. This just in! There was a terrible car crash on I-59 today, twelve people were killed in the mass pile up. One is being identified as 35 year old Mason Waters…”
The name causes her eyes to bulge and her mouth to drop. She stares stunned at the television. Tears almost exploded from her eyes as she watches the camera man weave between cars. They were just sitting out on Twelfth Street beach, resting on folded chairs, holding each other while sipping on Pina-Coladas not too long ago. The camera trembles as it quickly attempts to capture the tragedy. They met at Columbia University, going for the same business degree. A Honda Civic turned over on its side is revealed, another car is collapsed at its tail. He thought she was going on a business trip.
“Or watch a cock fight! Or check out the slums around…” He continues, but then finally realizes something is wrong, “Hey, you alright?”
She hazily backs away from the television, phasing out the rest of the report, and leans on the edge of the bed. Mason had a vivacious personality, but could be austere when the time came. He helped her cope with the loss of her mother, start her small business, and they owned a house together. The sex was great, but she was collapsing. The grains are falling on her head everyday and she feels the lapse of time in her limbs. Her head feels faint and her heart thuds tremendously, knocking her further on the bed. She resists crying, not wanting to. Mason kissed her goodbye at the airport. He held her bag for her, and then when they reached the terminal he gave her the most loving smile. His green eyes glistening with youth and his smooth pale skin gleamed off the sunlight. He still had his brown curly locks. His broad shoulders and strong hand waved as she slowly treaded onto the plane.
She rubs her forehead—her skin feels dry, trying to get hold of her thoughts. She glances outside and notices a woman lying on a sharp crimson towel, naked, basking in the Sun. The sand surrounding her almost engulfs her into a barren desert. Her stomach turns, causing her to cringe, she can’t believe he is gone.
“Are you alright?” He repeats, placing his hand on her back, massaging it placidly, “are you sick?”
His voice mirthlessly appeases her contempt. Vomit seems to be vehemently stirring in her stomach, trying to spill out of her mouth. Their wedding was beautiful, she remembers. She wore a long pearl gown tight to her slim figure, cut at her shoulder as her breast peeked a bit from the low curve. She jocularly stepped down the aisle, in the church she got baptized in; his smile in the distance made her whole body tingle. The bouquet and the thin veil colored the scene, as her cheeks grew red. He held her hand and kissed her lips—he wrapped his strong arms around her—swearing an oath of love and loyalty. A tear escapes her as she pushes him away, tumbling towards the screen door that leads to the outside deck. She rests her arms on the railing and then regurgitates the nachos she ate late night onto the sand below her. She wipes off the liquid on her mouth and spots the pack of cigarettes she smoked yesterday, one left, she quickly places it on her lips and lights it. The soothing smoke relaxes her body, but her soul trembles. He slowly steps outside with her, smiling with a child’s innocence. A few clouds guard the sunlight from them. The warmth wraps her gently as the light peeks back through. The shade relaxes her.
“What’s wrong? You pregnant or something?” He laughs.
Her hand is shaking. Her eyes begin to water, but she resists crying. The cigarette exhaustedly rests between her thin fingers as she turns away from him, her aged hair sways as the wind sails through it, and she taps her left foot vigorously against the old wooden deck. She finishes her cigarette, tosses it with a flick of her finger, sniffing the cool breeze as her elbows rest on the railing. A few seagulls cry from the beach. An older couple kisses in an open window near them. A man is buried underneath the sand, his head is the only part exposed, as his wife jocularly pats at the coffin she built for him. Waves tumble onto the exposed rocks and dirt, eroding the surface each time. The noon comes and reveals the whole beach.
“Get out, I’m heading home.”
