Triple Drabble - Castles Made of Sand
And so castles made of sand melts into the sea, eventually
~Jimi Hendrix
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Jack flopped on the sand, stretching out alongside his companion who sat pensively drawing designs with a stick.
“There’s nothing quite like a balmy beach, would you not say?” Jack asked with an airy wave.
Will shrugged, not looking up from his doodling.
“Tide’ll be changing soon,” Jack tried again. We’ll be on our way in no time.” He flashed a grin. “You’ll be back in Port Royal and your bonny lass before you know it.”
Scowling, Will finally met Jack’s gaze. “What makes you think that’s what I want?”
Jack sat up abruptly, eyes wide. “Isn’t that what you’ve been moping about all this time?”
Sighing, Will resumed his drawing, biting his lip in concentration.
Curiosity getting the best of him, Jack leaned over to see what held such fascination. A series of figures marched in progression across the sand, each bearing a distinctly familiar face.
A stiffly upright military man with plumed hat and tasseled sword led the parade, followed closely by two others. Following them were several figures in shackles, marching in single file. Their destination was clearly defined a bit further down the spit of sand, an accurate rendering of the gallows, where several nooses hung.
But what stood out most clearly were the two figures off to the side. One, a woman with flowing hair and gown, the other a fop with curly wig and feathered hat. They alone stood apart from the grim scene being played out on the silent shore.
Will drew two more figures, one with wild hair beneath a tricorn hat. The other mysteriously blank-featured.
As Jack watched, spellbound, the rising tide washed gently against the two, first softening, then erasing them entirely from the shore.
Standing up, Will straightened and announced firmly, “You are right, Jack. The tide is changing.”
****
~Jimi Hendrix
****
Jack flopped on the sand, stretching out alongside his companion who sat pensively drawing designs with a stick.
“There’s nothing quite like a balmy beach, would you not say?” Jack asked with an airy wave.
Will shrugged, not looking up from his doodling.
“Tide’ll be changing soon,” Jack tried again. We’ll be on our way in no time.” He flashed a grin. “You’ll be back in Port Royal and your bonny lass before you know it.”
Scowling, Will finally met Jack’s gaze. “What makes you think that’s what I want?”
Jack sat up abruptly, eyes wide. “Isn’t that what you’ve been moping about all this time?”
Sighing, Will resumed his drawing, biting his lip in concentration.
Curiosity getting the best of him, Jack leaned over to see what held such fascination. A series of figures marched in progression across the sand, each bearing a distinctly familiar face.
A stiffly upright military man with plumed hat and tasseled sword led the parade, followed closely by two others. Following them were several figures in shackles, marching in single file. Their destination was clearly defined a bit further down the spit of sand, an accurate rendering of the gallows, where several nooses hung.
But what stood out most clearly were the two figures off to the side. One, a woman with flowing hair and gown, the other a fop with curly wig and feathered hat. They alone stood apart from the grim scene being played out on the silent shore.
Will drew two more figures, one with wild hair beneath a tricorn hat. The other mysteriously blank-featured.
As Jack watched, spellbound, the rising tide washed gently against the two, first softening, then erasing them entirely from the shore.
Standing up, Will straightened and announced firmly, “You are right, Jack. The tide is changing.”
****