Samantha, I held her in my arms and she wept. My beautiful, delicate flower, my Samantha. Hot tears roll down her suntanned skin. I see one tickle the corner of her mouth.“They’re salty…â€? she says.“Samantha, have you never cried before?â€? I ask.“Sure, I’ve cried. When I was little, yeah. But it’s been a while.â€?Samantha stares up at me with her red and wet eyes.“When was the last time you cried?â€? she asks me back.I think about this one for a time. When was the last time that I cried?“I’m not sure. I guess it’s been a while for me, too.â€? I answer her.“Oh, come on. You must remember.â€?“Well, do you remember?â€?“Yes, I do.â€?“Tell me, then.â€? I request.Samantha looks down at our naked feet, digging into the sand.“Well, I was very young.â€?“How young?â€?“Maybe seven, or eight years old.â€?“Okay.â€?“And I was here.â€?“You were right here?â€?“Well, not right here. But I was here, on the beach.â€? she says, running her hand through the sand, smashing it into her tiny fist.“I was building a sand castle. It was the biggest and best sand castle I had ever made. It had a moat, and six, or maybe seven towers. It was perfect. I worked on it all day.â€?“And then?â€?“When the sun got low the tide came in. I could see the water creeping closer and closer to me and my castle, I could see it. I knew it was coming… But, I almost ignored it. It won’t get to me, I thought. It won’t get this far.â€?“And did it?â€?“It did. It really was happening slowly but it came up on me fast, like falling asleep. I remember I started building a wall around my castle, rapidly, to try and protect it.â€?“Did it work?â€?“Only at first. But I could only scoop the sand so fast, and before I knew it, water was rushing over my wall and flooding my moat and melting my castle. That’s when I cried.â€?It was on our 61st and final day that I realized she was my castle and I her moat. Time crept up onto us slowly and surely, but before we could build up our walls, the ocean had washed her away, and I was another drop in her bucket. Separated by forces beyond our control, my memory of her crumbling like the sand of eight year old Samantha’s castle. I wonder where she’s floating now.
I don't even know what your blogs mean. T_T
This is beautiful. I didn't even click the link I just read, forgive me, but this is a wonderful story.
Is this an Eight year old story or wat. Needs a better plot explanation imo.
it's a comparison-metaphor thing that's meant to be ambiguous, but it gets a little too convoluted when you get to the second-to-last paragraph
(as in a "what-the-heck-is-this-even-supposed-to-mean" kind of convoluted that doesn't go away with multiple readings)Yeah I agree. :|