January 22, 2008

Beach Fire

Beach Fire: To Write a Story in 20 Minutes

I sat next to the bonfire with nothing but a bowl and a box of oatmeal. Everyone else danced in the waves of sand glowing in the light of flames and a full moon. Just as fog floats and sinks, music from our car stereos mixed with the steady shore break of the ocean water to settle between the dunes and our ear drums. Yet, while everyone danced with their ice cold beer cans covered in sand which was glued to the condensation, I sat motionless on a piece of washed up drift wood covered in dry salty sea weed. Alone. My friends and siblings jumped around me like I was the dying fire, but that isn’t what made me miserable tonight. My favorite shirt was missing from when I was shit-faced earlier that afternoon. That isn’t why I was miserable either. No. I was miserable tonight because I was sitting there on a piece of firewood, sobering up with a bowl and a box of oatmeal. And no spoon.