Sand Castle

It was a warm day, and the sun had not yet become a predator. The fresh wind ruffled the sea. The waves were gentle, lapping quietly on the long, lonely stretch of the beach. She was but a child. Her face still had the naivete of those who forgot nightmares in the morning. She walked slowly, trying to breathe in the beauty of the scene, trying to hear the silence. She smiled a bit, and dug her feet luxuriantly in the fine, white sand.

She looked out at the calm water. So blue, so peaceful. She knew that there really was land underneath, that the beach she stood on extended below the placid water, but she didn't really trust her own knowledge. It looked so deep, so fathomless, so boundless, so mysterious. It called to her: the steady cadence of the waves, the shocking blue of the water, the invisible horizon.

Her foot steps trailed her as she walked slowly towards the water. She had read about the sea: in her school text books, in the story books she devoured cover to cover, in the poems which seemed to capture the very essence of life, in conversations with people. The insane beauty of the sea was never doubted, it was eulogized. But it was rumored that the sea couldn't be trusted. That in a moment it could metamorphosize from gentleness itself to a raging fury. That even the seamen who knew it best, could not predict its varying moods. And in its fury, it would spare none, not even those that loved it.

As she looked out, she forgot the words, she saw only calmness and an understanding, deep as the sea itself and as ineffable. She traced patterns in the water, marveled at the coolness of it, at the clarity. She decided that she wanted to build a sand castle. Just like the ones in the books, in the movies. Something from a fairytale: with a moat and turrets. She knew that the morning was hers, and that for once, she could choose to ignore the persistent knocks of the world on her door.

The minutes melted into each other as she scooped out sand, dug out a moat, lovingly wet the pliant, golden dough, thoughtfully gazed at the unformed mound, hesitantly carved out curves, towers. She didn't notice the sun, intent on baking her a honey brown, she didn't notice the loud cries of the sea birds. She only heard the insistent waves, encouraging her, pushing her on.

At last, she was satisfied. At last, the moat was exactly as round as she wanted it, as deep, as protective. At last, she could imagine lilliputian soldiers marching on the high walls, zealously guarding her masterpiece. She was proud and she was happy, as only children can be. She had used all she had, and it didn't matter if she was surrounded by more dreamers or whether she was alone. The golden sand castle was hers. It was perfection itself.

Just then, she felt a tug at her feet. She turned at last to the sea, and found it at her toes. She watched horrified at the receding shoreline. The sea had crept forward, just as she had been told it would. She stumbled backwards, pushed by the unrelenting sea.

She watched with tortured eyes as the moat, her moat, filled in: just as it was supposed to. She watched with helpless eyes as the cool water lapped at the seemingly insuperable walls. For a few moments it seemed as though the sea would lose, must lose. And then the walls gave in: the insidious water now dissolved the very walls which it had cemented together. She watched with wet eyes as her castle of fairy tales became a nondescript mound and then dissolved completely. The water drove her further back, farther away from that which had been hers.

In the fading twilight, she returned. The beauty of the fading scene was rivaled only by its own bright memory of the morning. She walked to the grave where her castle had been buried. It was uncovered by water, the sea had returned once it had finished its task. It was true, she realized. What they had said was true. The sea could not be trusted, treachery was in its nature, just as beauty was. Its steady tides were its breath, the swallowing of dreams was its character. Sand castles were not meant for tomorrow. They belonged to the sea, and they would be claimed just as surely as they would be built. As she walked away, she was trailed by the soft imprints of her tired feet. They would soon be wiped out too. But she didn't glance back.