User:6smith/sandbox

The sand was hot beneath my scraped-up feet. A comforting feeling, even through the pain of having walked countless miles along the beach. A handful of seabirds fly overhead, making sounds. Louder, more strained as they pass me. I must look so small and slow to them. An ambling ape-form, trudging through the dirty sand and rocks. I'm surprised about my feet, I guess callouses are no match for days of sand-walking. The sounds are louder. Louder than they should be. How loud should they be? I keep walking. I never look behind me. Should I look behind me? No. No, I keep walking.