Sand Stories

in #foxtales7 years ago (edited)

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The memories now return in violent half-scenes, most of the time disjointed. The fragments appear and disappear haphazardly as though they possessed wicked, capricious minds. Even now, I can see her beautiful face by the beach, the lone shaft of the Bean tower behind her, gazing at the uneven waters. I can recall the wind on her face; the soft smoothing caress on her chin. Then, as we held hands, marching through the sand, I can recall her tiny voice whispering to my ears that she would love to die; right then and there, with me, and she was would have no regrets. The last bit of torturous memory was always that solitary tyre, the one leaning on a bed of yellow sand, alone, away from everything. I always recall myself looking straight at it with utter disbelief, unable to feel my feet and strongly aware that the worst has befallen me. But what worst? Today, I still don't remember fully, what happened. I was only told she was no more and that our car had tumbled more times than a gymnast could. Each time I remember this, I look at my legs. They look back at me; straight faced and malicious. They seem to be laughing at me.

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Well written. I love your use of imagery. Nice writing art.

Lol. I tire for the legs oh

But finally, You sabi write ooo

Abeg no flag me for the quick reply.

Flag you? ? Hahahahahaha... If i flag you, my reputation go drop na...

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