A story

I am still wading through that squelchy, confused mud, but am trying to be a good girl and write regularly. After all, this is my practice pad, and what's a practice pad's point if you don't practice on it? It doesn't have one. And I'd hate for my very own practice pad to feel pointless. But my brain is befuddled and not-so-bemused, and is dwelling on the transience of it all, after hearing some news last night that I'm not ready to write about yet so, instead, I will write a story about a girl watching her shadow on the beach.

She sat above the shoreline with her knees against her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs. There was a slight breeze but it is was surprisingly warm considering the time of year. She breathed deeply, inhaling the smell of the ocean - seaweed, salt, mermaid's breath. As the sun set behind her, she watched her shadow lengthen across the sand until it reached the wet sand where the waves washed up.

She lifted her arms and saw her Dr Seuss-like shadow fingers reach into the lacy foam at the edge of the sea, then watched as it rushed up the shore, eating her head, neck and then shoulders. There it stopped and withdrew, dropping her shadow back onto the sand as it receded.

There her shadow being was again, on the smooth wet sand, her neck, like a Modigliani woman, even longer now, as the sun sunk lower behind her. A welk made it's way through her shadow ear, down her neck and toward her breast.

She stood up, stretched her neck, and walked down the beach, her shadow hurrying behind her, glancing at the sun nervously, knowing it's time on this beach was limited.