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The Footprints Fade

By JourneyWriter, Joliet, IL

Wet sand oozes through my bare toes. Each time I lift my sunburned feet up to take another step I leave a soupy footprint behind. My footprints don’t last long as the sea water rushes up every few moments and sucks everything up with its vacuum- like waves. Like my footprints, nothing stays on the beach for enough time to be remembered, as long as there is a steady tide. The heart someone scraped into the wet sand with their initials some meters back disappeared only a few moments after it was drawn. It was gone almost as soon as the amateur artist turned her back, as if the ocean could not stand such mediocre attempts at art that it washed it away as quickly as possible.
My baby sister grabs onto my hand. I didn’t realize that she has been following me. I look down at her freckled, sunny face and grin. She flashes a toothless grin back and begins to pull me to a small tide pool nearby, all the while rambling on about a big crab that lives in a house made of seaweed.

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