Abandoned Sand Castles
by Lady of the Lillies
I have this reoccurring dream of me and Liz Parker at the ocean. When I open my eyes I can still feel the
wet sand between my toes.
When it begins, all is dark. I float barely over the water's surface. Sometimes I go under and the breath
is taken from me. Other times, arms and legs outstretched, I drift worthlessly. At the mercy of the ocean,
I wait for where ever she may take me.
I can feel the serenity of water around me. The waves wash over my face. They trickle down my cheeks
and like Alice, I feel as if I am in a sea of my own tears. Which is strangely comforting.
I am on a beach. It has been years since I've ever been to a beach, but if I was ever to go again, this is
what I would want it to be like. Miles upon miles of golden wet sand, like a stairway to heaven. Where I
walk, my footprints are filled with little pools of ocean. Cloudy water that I try to divine from.
Millions of little shells litter the coast. Of all colors, shapes, sizes. Alone and waiting for someone to
notice them. To pick them up and make them. To own them. But what they do not realize that they are
beautiful. What a pure metaphor.
Beside me, I do not see, I feel Liz come up beside me. Her skin is cold as she takes me hand. I want to
look at her, to kiss her, but all we can do, is walk.
A wind, salty and cold, whispers around her hair. The wind's fingers turn my head to look. In this
moment, she is happy. The sadness that loomed over her like a grandmother's ghost is gone. Something
radiates inside of her and blinds me for moments.
All I can do is stand and marvel at beauty.
As we walk, hand in hand, Liz bends and picks up a sea shell. I can feel it's strange feelings of being
wanted, transfer to me. Liz feels it too because she tightens her grip on my fingers.
The shell is dirty white, dull, with ridges and a small chip in the side. A sharp sliver has been claimed by
the ocean. It is plain and blemished. There is nothing special about this shell. Except for a moment, I
understand that it is Liz in a way. It is me, too. Then, I forget.
It fits snugly in my hand as she presses it deeper. The heat from Liz's fingers surrenders to mine. She
looks in my eyes and smiles sadly. "Have you ever seen anything more perfect?"
Before I can answer I feel the ocean biting angrily at my ankles. The water slowly creeps into me and I
shiver. Unlike the beginning, this water is greedy. It is the water that any man who has sailed fears. The
one who holds no prisoners.
I scan the ocean that stretches out forever, like the sky. In the distance, I can see a tiny figure which I
know, is Liz. I watch, frozen, as she moves farther and farther into the water. I can feel her cold fear,
but she continues to walk.
Her face is fervor and I feel sick as she turns it towards me. Her sadness swells around her before she
goes under. It's hands take her throat and keep her.
Soon the wind brings to me her screams for help. But all I can do is watch as Liz Parker slowly drowns.
I wake.
Alone, in my bed with the sounds of a busy street. But the sounds of her screams and the ocean in my
head.
I wake with a flawed, plain, white sea shell in my hand. Somewhere though, in it I try to find it's
perfection. I look until dawn.
And then I remember.
Liz Parker has been dead for seven years.
by Lady of the Lillies
I have this reoccurring dream of me and Liz Parker at the ocean. When I open my eyes I can still feel the
wet sand between my toes.
When it begins, all is dark. I float barely over the water's surface. Sometimes I go under and the breath
is taken from me. Other times, arms and legs outstretched, I drift worthlessly. At the mercy of the ocean,
I wait for where ever she may take me.
I can feel the serenity of water around me. The waves wash over my face. They trickle down my cheeks
and like Alice, I feel as if I am in a sea of my own tears. Which is strangely comforting.
I am on a beach. It has been years since I've ever been to a beach, but if I was ever to go again, this is
what I would want it to be like. Miles upon miles of golden wet sand, like a stairway to heaven. Where I
walk, my footprints are filled with little pools of ocean. Cloudy water that I try to divine from.
Millions of little shells litter the coast. Of all colors, shapes, sizes. Alone and waiting for someone to
notice them. To pick them up and make them. To own them. But what they do not realize that they are
beautiful. What a pure metaphor.
Beside me, I do not see, I feel Liz come up beside me. Her skin is cold as she takes me hand. I want to
look at her, to kiss her, but all we can do, is walk.
A wind, salty and cold, whispers around her hair. The wind's fingers turn my head to look. In this
moment, she is happy. The sadness that loomed over her like a grandmother's ghost is gone. Something
radiates inside of her and blinds me for moments.
All I can do is stand and marvel at beauty.
As we walk, hand in hand, Liz bends and picks up a sea shell. I can feel it's strange feelings of being
wanted, transfer to me. Liz feels it too because she tightens her grip on my fingers.
The shell is dirty white, dull, with ridges and a small chip in the side. A sharp sliver has been claimed by
the ocean. It is plain and blemished. There is nothing special about this shell. Except for a moment, I
understand that it is Liz in a way. It is me, too. Then, I forget.
It fits snugly in my hand as she presses it deeper. The heat from Liz's fingers surrenders to mine. She
looks in my eyes and smiles sadly. "Have you ever seen anything more perfect?"
Before I can answer I feel the ocean biting angrily at my ankles. The water slowly creeps into me and I
shiver. Unlike the beginning, this water is greedy. It is the water that any man who has sailed fears. The
one who holds no prisoners.
I scan the ocean that stretches out forever, like the sky. In the distance, I can see a tiny figure which I
know, is Liz. I watch, frozen, as she moves farther and farther into the water. I can feel her cold fear,
but she continues to walk.
Her face is fervor and I feel sick as she turns it towards me. Her sadness swells around her before she
goes under. It's hands take her throat and keep her.
Soon the wind brings to me her screams for help. But all I can do is watch as Liz Parker slowly drowns.
I wake.
Alone, in my bed with the sounds of a busy street. But the sounds of her screams and the ocean in my
head.
I wake with a flawed, plain, white sea shell in my hand. Somewhere though, in it I try to find it's
perfection. I look until dawn.
And then I remember.
Liz Parker has been dead for seven years.
