For the prompt: "Crashing Waves of the Ocean".
Two-toed prints embedded in the sand, multiple times, and heading straight into the ocean.
"Leo, watch me lose my swimming trunks in the crashing waves of the BLUE!"
Why did he even wear trunks? I curiously asked him one time. Those awful orange and black-striped shorts that stole every person's attention, from the perplexed kid chewing on his finger to the snow cone stand employees. All of them wildly glancing at my nutty brother; it was bad enough that we were mutant turtles but mutant turtles in disgusting swimwear.
Mikey usually finished my train of thought with a resounding yelp from the shoreline.
I counted his sand-prints a couple of times. Don't tell him, okay? Eighteen, sometimes nineteentwentytwentytwo when Raph pushed Mikey into the water. The lifeguard thought a damsel needed his help but it was just Mikey and his vocal cords.
Donatello helped some kids build a sandcastle. It was magnificent, and I snapped a photo shortly before a random teenager kicked it all back into the sand. Then I was on guard duty over a massive lump on the beach with a whiny head sticking out of it while Don and the Buttercream Gang constructed a new castle. Raphael provided colorful commentary and more sand on the mound. He would strangely disappear somewhere and return with a bikini top and some candy. Babies and hot women were not safe.
I liked watching Mikey flop in the waters. Terribly funny. Before he would always lose his shorts, I'd drift into introspection and feel empowered by the ocean's whispers. We belong to the big sea, an open world, and not in the cramped sewer and certainly not to a canister of ooze.
"Donny!" Raph screamed. "He says he needs to pee! The troublemaker!"
I forgot I was sitting on the brat. Donatello chose to ignore us and corrected a little girl about where the castle's ballroom should be.
Raph looked down at the kid. "What are we gonna do? You feeling warm yet?"
"Let me go, you assholes! I got kidney problems!" his voice screeched, momentarily stuttered by sand.
"So you wet the bed at night, tiger?" Raph teased and lowered to the ground. "Your mommy tuck you in your own little sandbox? Do you have a teddy? You wub your wittle teddy?" Raph pouted his lips and made a puppy face at the kid. The massive crying and screaming fits made my non-existent hair stand on my back. I finally unearthed the kid and warned him to avoid our territory or our Guard-Dog would bury him upside down next time.
That feels like forever ago. I no longer see Mikey's footprints in the sands, Don's castle, and no trolling Raphael. Do they know I still come here to this beach and wait for them? Twice a month, I'm here and digging my toes into the moist sand. The closer I stand to the water, the closer I feel to Mikey. It would make my day to find his trunks. All of them.
There aren't many lighthouses left in the world; they've been abandoned or replaced by better technology, but they're still strong and dependable. The light isn't as bright anymore, but it's still there.
I'm still here.