Walking

She was walking down the beach; the waves came rolling in on the soft, chalky sand. She gradually kneeled down and picked up a handful of the white sand; she sifted it through her elegant white fingers. Her red nails contrasted on the white sand.

Her green eyes, moist from crying, looked out onto the clear blue sea. She could kneel no longer and instead shifted slightly to sit on her legs. The waves came crashing down onto the sand in front her, softly spraying mist onto her blue sweater.

Looking down in front of her, she saw a bottle. It seems aged with time and the strong currents of the ocean. The bottle itself was of simple design; it seemed like one of those from long ago, from perhaps her grandmother’s time. She slowly picked up the bottle and brought it level with her face. In side was a piece of paper; slowly undoing the cork on top of the bottle, she was able to get out the paper.

Putting down the bottle carefully, she unrolled the paper, as not to break it because of its age. She looked at the paper confused. There was nothing on it. She waited for a few moments, studying the paper turning it, lifting it into better light, as if to see some faded writing.

Finally, she decided there was nothing on the paper she stood up slowly. However, something caught her eye, as the setting sun glinted on of a locket. She knelt down quickly to pick up the locket. It was gold with a simple design; it had a cross with a symbol that seemed to be a family crest of some sorts, she decided. She opened the locket with some difficulty, although when it was opened she saw inside was a picture of a young girl who was wearing an elegant white dress and was standing next to a woman who was wearing the same thing as the girl. It had to be a mother and her daughter, she determined. On the other side of the locket was a name, it read Amelia SanJose.

She stared up in shock; the girl in the picture was her grandmother who had died months ago. She climbed into her car, which she pointed toward her cliff-side home. The gates opened with a slowness of a turtle that aggravated her; she buzzed the intercom to her butler, whom had already pushed for the gates to open, in order to tell him to hurry the gates further along.

Clutching the locket in hand, she pulled her car up to the door and hurried out; not bothering to explain her hastily behavior, she marched up the sweeping staircase to the study who’s ancient furniture inhabitants were still draped in the dusty and cobwebbed-covered sheets. Pulling aside the heavy oak door, she strode over to the desk nearest t the window that overlooked the howling ocean. Dragging back the desk chair and swiftly sitting down, she pulled open the drawer to her left, and upon opening said drawer, she discovered a file labeled Amelia SanJose’s Will. Realizing that this is what she was looking for, she placed down the locket on the dirty desk and reached over to pull out the file.

Opening the file, and pulling out the papers inside, she heard a dull thud on the heavy carpet near the foot of the chair. Looking down, she saw a glint, a tiny flash of gold catch momentarily by the clouded sun; it was a key, a tiny one at that. Instantly she realized what it belonged to the heavy wooden chest upstairs in the attic; dropping the file and the papers onto the grimy desk, and quickly snatched up the locket, she dashed out the study and up the flight of stairs that lay innocently to the right. Skipping up the steps two at a time, she reached the attic door in not time. Pausing shortly to look at the door with a fleeting feeling of confusion, for the reason that there was a series of claw marks on the door, perhaps left by the aging door that laid in the sunlight that came through the kitchen windows, she thrust open the door and her eyes instantly fell upon the chest that sat by the by window with the cracked and peeling paint.

She rushed over, almost tripping in her haste, and fell to her knees, and pulled a small silver skeleton key from the chain around her neck. With a shaking hand, she placed the key into the keyhole in the front of the chest, and turned it slowly to the left, until she heard a soft clicking noise that told her it was unlocked. She placed both of her hands timidly on the acient wood hood, and pushed against it until the it pushed upward to reveal what was inside. Her green eyes scanned the top of the aging papers and books until they fell upon a photo album covered in thick gray dust.

She grabbed the photo ablum and a stack of letter laying innocently beside it. Gribbing the album and the dusty letter that no longer shone white, but rather a dullish tan from the age, she slowly closed the heavy wooden cover and turned to the door, not bothering to lock it. She walked slowly down the stairs, balancing the ablum, letters, and the bottle in her hands. She reached the bottom of the terendous staircase and walked a bit quicker to the living room, trying not to trip over her feet in her haste.

Reviews

[Brian C. Noell]

This was an interesting little story with a pleasant twist at the end. You put your ideas out there nicely but you should consider some revisions.

Why bother with the post script at the end? Why don't you write the story so as to make us understand what the picture is of? Actually...I didn't have a problem understanding that and thought that your inclusion of that information was unnecessary.

Here are a couple of minor changes that you should consider to improve the flow of the story as well as the grammar....

She could not kneel any longer and instead shifted... consider changing to "she could kneel no longer and.....

Looking down in front of her, she sees [saw] a bottle. ....The story is written in past tense, this line is not.

she unrolled the paper, as not to break it with its age. ...you don't break something with its age, you break something BECAUSE of its age....consider re-wording.


You have a good story here, its short and I think you could expand on it. Why is the girl on the beach? Is she home to settle her families estate? ...Theres a lot of possibilities.

You have a lot of talent, your narrative was good as well as the descriptive values of the story. Keep writing.