By Aly Kirke, TIWP Student
I’m sitting on the stone floor of a cell I don’t belong in and the only thing I can do to get out is close my eyes. I’m at the beach. The waves crash gently, spraying me with salty tears of joy. The breeze is chilled, but not cold, and it lifts my hair up into the clouds above. The sun blesses my skin with a golden kind of warmth. My toes sink into the damp, welcoming sand and the water kisses my feet, sending a chill up my spine. Seagulls squawk, greeting from above, while others wander about the beach, soaking in its beauty. I’m smiling and I’m happy. I run with the waves, looking for the best shells, and scream with joy when the waves chase me back out. By sunset, my pockets are filled with all sorts of shells. I lay them all out on a big flat rock, arranging them first by color, then by size, continuing to find new ways to arrange them until their patterns and colors are distinct in my mind. I then climb all over the rock, saying hello to the occasional crab basking in the sun. I watch the waves crash until dark, when its time to say goodbye. But this time, I can’t.