Waves slapped against the shore, and I buried my feet in the warm sand as the salty wind touseled my curls. Water sprayed my freckled face, and I closed my eyes as I listened to the water call to me, sing songs to me.
I had told no one about my ability to speak to the ocean, though it was no secret I spent hours wandering the dunes, almost daily. I was known far and wide as "The Sand Girl", a nickname that had overshadowed my given name and ruled over my life.
It was evident to everyone that I was different. I heard the whispers in the hallway as I passed by, the whispers exchanged between "normal" people at the lunch table next to me. I heard the snickers and saw the pitiful glances teachers gave me in their classes.
I was a bright student, Honor Roll at worst and gifted at best. Contrary to popular belief, school was not my passion. It was just the environment in which I had been taught to grow into, to flourish in. I lived for those beach strolls, those ocean swims, the times when I could close my notebook and spend hours roarming the beach. Alone. Just me and the waves, the servant and her master.
But the best thing about the beach were the shells. Little fragments of the past, who had survived the journey from across the world and many rough waves that flung it to and fro, hard chips that had scraped the bottom of boats and grazed the arms of swimmers. More likely than not, it had been slammed on the sand many times, only to be drug out to the water again and endure that for hours, until finally someone came along and picked it up, rescuing it from the water.
The sand was wonderful, too. Something about the warmth and the way it filled every gap between my toes, even spilling onto the top of my feet as well as providing a thick shoe for the sole made it the best sensation in the world. I couldn't explain it to anyone who hadn't felt the power of the sea, but it seemed to hum with power, vibrate with strength.
It was addicting, really. Once you've connected with something that deeply, it's hard to leave it behind. Even with whispered promises of a return to my beloved friend, the beach, it was hard to pry me away from it. I could easily stay there for hours, even days at a time, relishing in the presence of that power. No human relationship I had ever seen or heard of, much less felt, could even come close to the honor of bearing the name, "The Sand Girl."
But to many, I was only "The Sand Girl", although my close friends and local relatives knew that I had other hobbies, best enjoyed on the beach. My grandma had a painting I had made of the sunset hanging in her bedroom, and my wall was adorned with swimming medals.
As nice as chlorine pools were, they couldn't rival the raw, salty power of the ocean waves. Sometimes, they spoke to me when I swam, carrying me down current and listening to me, the best gift it has ever given me. Whenever possible, I slipped my swimsuit on and merged with the ocean, allowing it to hold me and carry me wherever I belonged.
Some believe that their destiny is written in the clouds or spun by the gods and goddesses above. Others think that their fate is buried deeper, in the constellations and planets' orbits above. But I believe that my destiny lies on the beach, buried in the sand and deposited on the shore with every pounding wave. I don't just believe so, I know so. Because the ocean has chosen to speak to me, the Sand Girl.
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