Salt, fish, it stings her nostrils as she stands, two feet slowly being buried by sand with each splashing wave that makes its way up onto the earth below, depositing flecks of sand while simultaneously softening the ground beneath her. She sinks ever further into the earth. She grows smaller. Eyes closed, she breathes in the air, the wind blowing and billowing across the tops of the ocean from a land far away, waters far away from where she stands now. She feels cold. The sun hides behind the every-forming patch of clouds, condensation, the greenhouse process that cycles and recycles the same air, the same water she breathes and feels now. A small sting. The cut on the heel of her foot reacts negatively to the salt in the water. She winces.
Bored, she splashes and kicks her feet about in a childish fashion. She runs, legs high, straddling each watery mound, the odd over-leap of trudging through liquid. The water is cool. Covered now, sticky, she swims, feels the power of the water determined to break upon land. The voice of her mother yells out her name. She waves in acknowledgement. Pulling herself from the surf, she climbs out of the water and rubs her hands through her wet hair. Seaweed, wet rocks, the smell of heat rising off rock, she sloshes and stamps through the picturesque beach of white sand.
Another small sting at her heel. She looks down to assess the situation. Blood. With one of her legs kicked up and back behind her, she reaches down and touches her pointer finger to the spot where her body has been cut. A drop of red sticks to her finger as she smirks in discomfort and interest. Finger in her mouth now, she tastes the salt and metallic flavors not so unlike the water of the ocean.