.:VeganCheeseBurgerFTW:.
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For creative writing at school we had to write a short story and include a moral.
Here's mine. I'd love feedback.
Sharp bullets of sand shot at my bare legs by the icily chilled wind stings my delicate, pale skin. Sea spray adds a salty taste to the mid-winter air. My thin cotton dress waves violently in the wind. Long, curly copper hair repeatedly impairs my vision. Gentle rain cleanses my tear stained face. Little shards of glass try to embed themselves in the soles of my feet as I walk. Behind me, a trail of little blood spots. Above me, a grey, dismal sky inhabiting a few brave, screeching seagulls. The wind, raging in anger throws sea spray and loose sand at me, as if telling me to leave. I am alone. No one walks along the beach on a day like this. I walk out into the shallow, yet angry sea water. Salt water stings my battered feet, yet the pain only pleasures me. Sea water, so cold my feet numb quickly. The waves crash, metres from me and I feel the water rush over my feet and ankles. I take in a heavy breath of the chilled, salty air, shut my eyelids over my terrified, depressed green eyes and throw myself into the surf. My body freezes in the painfully cold water. With the little strength left in me, I drag my limp body up the soaked, brutally cold shore. No longer in the water, but still drenched, covered only by a short, strapless and now completely sodden cotton dress. My weak legs struggle under my shaking body as I climb to my feet. I secretly wished the ocean had been more violent, dragged me out, and damaged me. Standing, only just, my legs about to fall from under me, I know I’m only doing this in an attempt to harm myself. Mad at life, I begin walking towards the pier, weak legs, stumbling along, intending to end my suffering in a short few minutes. I have never learnt to swim, so I doubt that I’ll be able to fight the water. I reach my pathetic, thin arm out and my shaking hand latches onto the railing of the staircase that will lead to the end of my suffering. I take my first step with little hesitance, almost with excitement. I feel something brush the back of my leg, I turn swiftly to see littered sand. Colourful packaging, bright rubbish and glittering junk create a decorative wasteland. I lower myself onto the step and sit and stare in awe. I look behind me, up to the pier and my eyes dash along to the end. I could be there; I could turn around and finish what I started. I quickly look back over to the wasteland. Rays of sunlight break through the clouds sparsely, reflecting off the decorative litter. A small smile plays on my lips, first in a while. I no longer wish to continue up the stairs, instead I realize what I live for, I live for the beauty in the little things. Finding beauty in what would otherwise be considered trash. My life, made worthwhile by one of the most unlikely things, an admiration for the trashy beauty of what would be considered by most as an atrocious mess, but by me as a piece of beauty. If I can see beauty in rubbish, people can find beauty in me and I can keep discovering beauty in the most unlikely places.
Here's mine. I'd love feedback.
Sharp bullets of sand shot at my bare legs by the icily chilled wind stings my delicate, pale skin. Sea spray adds a salty taste to the mid-winter air. My thin cotton dress waves violently in the wind. Long, curly copper hair repeatedly impairs my vision. Gentle rain cleanses my tear stained face. Little shards of glass try to embed themselves in the soles of my feet as I walk. Behind me, a trail of little blood spots. Above me, a grey, dismal sky inhabiting a few brave, screeching seagulls. The wind, raging in anger throws sea spray and loose sand at me, as if telling me to leave. I am alone. No one walks along the beach on a day like this. I walk out into the shallow, yet angry sea water. Salt water stings my battered feet, yet the pain only pleasures me. Sea water, so cold my feet numb quickly. The waves crash, metres from me and I feel the water rush over my feet and ankles. I take in a heavy breath of the chilled, salty air, shut my eyelids over my terrified, depressed green eyes and throw myself into the surf. My body freezes in the painfully cold water. With the little strength left in me, I drag my limp body up the soaked, brutally cold shore. No longer in the water, but still drenched, covered only by a short, strapless and now completely sodden cotton dress. My weak legs struggle under my shaking body as I climb to my feet. I secretly wished the ocean had been more violent, dragged me out, and damaged me. Standing, only just, my legs about to fall from under me, I know I’m only doing this in an attempt to harm myself. Mad at life, I begin walking towards the pier, weak legs, stumbling along, intending to end my suffering in a short few minutes. I have never learnt to swim, so I doubt that I’ll be able to fight the water. I reach my pathetic, thin arm out and my shaking hand latches onto the railing of the staircase that will lead to the end of my suffering. I take my first step with little hesitance, almost with excitement. I feel something brush the back of my leg, I turn swiftly to see littered sand. Colourful packaging, bright rubbish and glittering junk create a decorative wasteland. I lower myself onto the step and sit and stare in awe. I look behind me, up to the pier and my eyes dash along to the end. I could be there; I could turn around and finish what I started. I quickly look back over to the wasteland. Rays of sunlight break through the clouds sparsely, reflecting off the decorative litter. A small smile plays on my lips, first in a while. I no longer wish to continue up the stairs, instead I realize what I live for, I live for the beauty in the little things. Finding beauty in what would otherwise be considered trash. My life, made worthwhile by one of the most unlikely things, an admiration for the trashy beauty of what would be considered by most as an atrocious mess, but by me as a piece of beauty. If I can see beauty in rubbish, people can find beauty in me and I can keep discovering beauty in the most unlikely places.
