Message In The 26th Bottle

Short days ago we were together, we watched sunsets glow, felt the Dawn. We lived and were loved by each other, but now I am saddened that in the past few months I have nearly completely forgotten your face. I wish I had dedicated every minuscule feature better to memory, but as the days past, and my mind was slowly swallowed by madness like a droplet in a pit of slime, I remember less and less of my previous self- my previous life. The slight curvature of your nose, the lift in your brow, the tiny wrinkles on the ends of your lips- the wrinkles from a lifetime of laughter. Such tiny insignificant features which now have taken on such profound and sacred meaning to me, suddenly it has become so vitally essential to remember everything about you. The exact colour tone of your hair, the exact angle of your jaw. Why is it that faces, being so easily recognized, so easily pulled up from our past, are yet so easily forgotten in our minds in their absence.

How to Build a Sand Castle

I heroically led the charge. Screaming at the top of my lungs as I sprinted towards the oncoming wall of water. Leaping over the tiny smaller waves before it, smashing through them, destroying them, regaining my footing underwater, and charging onwards, my plastic shovel held high up in the air, the sunlight reflecting off the red plastic. I could hear the ranks of the shell army cheering behind me as I led the charge.