Sandals left on the boardwalk, I fully experience the beach as the cool, soft sand squishes between my toes. I tread carefully closer to the water, picking my way through a carpet of shells, drawn to the ebb and flow. I splash in its coolness. I muse.
Walking on the beach is similar to life. There’s hard and soft, struggle and ease, cold and warm. And the promise of something mysterious that’s just beyond my reach.
Grateful for possibility, I turn to head back. My footprints are washed away, like I never existed. Good for the beach but not for life.
I like this metaphor. The character’s judgment (good for the beach but not for life) at the end speaks of a youth’s desire to “make a mark”. An older character might “accept” that it is what it is and end at “like I never existed.”
Good story, and sad. I take it as a caution to never let our lives or our accomplishments be so insignificant that death can wipe them away as though they never existed. I could be wrong. Anyway, I liked this a lot.
lovely lovely.
it’s the last line that prevents the metaphor from sinking into cliche. A very nice piece.
Your metaphor at the end is what makes your story unique. Sad, but written very well. Nice job.