Today's prompt was "Ocean." Here's my ocean piece:
He’s asleep, nestled in the sand, curled against warm terrycloth. It’s been months since he’s been able to rest without the help of prescriptions. No one seemed to be able to tell us why he’d suddenly developed insomnia, though everyone offered us expensive snake oil in an effort to provide a cure. We’d decided that we would finally take the trip we’d always talked about, finally go and see the ocean. There was no better plan in place than to just drive out there and spend at least one whole day out on the beach, doing whatever struck our fancy.
He’d sat next to me, wriggling his toes into the soft grains, and whispered, a little breathlessly, “It’s so much bigger in real life.”
I just nodded, soundlessly, in answer.
We watched waves rolling in and listened to the birds crying and little kids running around and yelling for their parents to look. We waded and picked up some shells and some rocks. He found me a piece of sea glass and when he brought it to me he was as proud as if he’d found a raw diamond. I’d shown him something I’d written about sea glass a long time ago and I’d confessed to him that I’d always wanted to go to the ocean and find a piece of my own. It became a precious jewel the minute it transferred from his hand to mine. I was still holding it, running my thumb along it’s saltwater smoothed surface.
I’m not sure exactly when dreams finally claimed him. It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep. I let him doze until after the sun goes down and it starts to get cold. We walk away, fingers twined together, with the sense that hurts we weren’t aware we were carrying had been healed.
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