I'd Give the Seas
Sandcastles
“Nicky, hurry up!”
A little girl, no more than six years old, stood barefoot on a crowded beach. Her yellow sundress whipped around her legs as a cool breeze rolled of the ocean waves that tickled her toes. Her dark hair blew into her fierce blue eyes as she glanced back. A pudgy boy, two years older than the girl, struggled to keep up with her growing legs.
“I told you not to call me that!” he huffed in response. Sweat beaded on his sunshine-yellow hairline and slowly trickled to his ridiculous attempt of a frown.
The girl giggled as he caught up, his anger lost on her. “You’re funny, Nicky.”
In response, he simply glowered at her, his face colored with embarrassment at the effort of chasing her down the beach. “It’s Nicolas.”
The girl just smiled, paying no mind to his haughty tone and educated accent. To her, he was just another child—just like her. She had accepted him warmly and treated him as she would anyone else. In fact, she had already begun to think of him as a friend despite only just being introduced to him that morning. That was just who she was.
“What do you want to do?” she asked as she scanned her eyes over the beach and the people on it.
“We should go back to our parents.”
The girl turned to her companion, sizing him up. She could tell by his nervous stutter and his unsure stance that he had never strayed far from his mother’s side. She found this way of clinging to someone odd, for she had always been encouraged to explore and find adventure. Curiosity had been her nature since birth. She decided right then and there to take that boy older than herself and show him that the world wasn’t as scary as he believed.
She returned to her scanning, determined to find some form of mischief to get involved in, when she spotted a dark figure hunched over a mound of sand pretending to be a sad-looking sandcastle. She stared, intrigued by the black shirt, black shorts, and black hair sitting stationary and alone in a sea of moving, colorful people.
“I think we should go help him,” she stated suddenly.
“What?” asked the boy, Nicolas. He followed the line of her eyesight and spotted the figure she was staring at. “Oh no,” he replied, fear welling up inside, “that sounds like a bad idea. He’s a stranger.”
“Not if you make friends with him,” she countered simply. She reached down and grabbed Nicolas’s hand and pulled him forward. “C’mon.”
They approached the strange boy together, Nicolas trailing reluctantly behind. The girl stooped beside the boy dressed in black and began shaping the sand he had been piling in front of himself. Nicolas stood several paces behind, observing as the other boy startled when he noticed her.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice sounding thin.
The girl ignored his question and smiled at him. “You have to build towers, like this.” She packed the sand high and patted it smooth with her small hands.
“I know how to build a sandcastle.” He dug out more sand and started building his own tower, mimicking the girl’s movements as he watched her from the corner of his eye.
“My name is Mercy and I’m five and a half,” she stated suddenly, giggling as the boy’s tower suddenly crumbled into his lap.
“I-I’m Jonathan,” he replied as he dusted the dirt from his shorts.
“How old are you, Johnny?”
He glanced at her, eyebrows raised at the nickname. “I’m ten.”
“That’s Nicky and he just turned eight.” She gestured to the blond boy standing behind her.
“Nicolas. My name is Nicolas England.” He extended his hand to the older boy, who looked at it for a moment before taking it in his own. To Nicolas’s chagrin, Jonathan’s hand was larger than his own.
“It’s nice to meet you, Nicolas.”
“Good, we’re all friends,” Mercy observed. “Now, let’s build a sandcastle!”
The sun reddened on the horizon before the three children parted ways. Nicolas nearly had to drag Mercy away from the beach and the large fort they had constructed. As the pair reached their parents, waiting where the beach met the blacktop parking lot, Mercy took one last glance at the ocean. There, standing right where the water foamed as it hit the sand, stood Jonathan. He was facing the waves and the darkening sky and then turned slowly in her direction. His eyes, a dark, troubled green, met hers and he smiled. She waved goodbye and turned to leave, her other hand holding onto her father’s.
A little girl, no more than six years old, stood barefoot on a crowded beach. Her yellow sundress whipped around her legs as a cool breeze rolled of the ocean waves that tickled her toes. Her dark hair blew into her fierce blue eyes as she glanced back. A pudgy boy, two years older than the girl, struggled to keep up with her growing legs.
“I told you not to call me that!” he huffed in response. Sweat beaded on his sunshine-yellow hairline and slowly trickled to his ridiculous attempt of a frown.
The girl giggled as he caught up, his anger lost on her. “You’re funny, Nicky.”
In response, he simply glowered at her, his face colored with embarrassment at the effort of chasing her down the beach. “It’s Nicolas.”
The girl just smiled, paying no mind to his haughty tone and educated accent. To her, he was just another child—just like her. She had accepted him warmly and treated him as she would anyone else. In fact, she had already begun to think of him as a friend despite only just being introduced to him that morning. That was just who she was.
“What do you want to do?” she asked as she scanned her eyes over the beach and the people on it.
“We should go back to our parents.”
The girl turned to her companion, sizing him up. She could tell by his nervous stutter and his unsure stance that he had never strayed far from his mother’s side. She found this way of clinging to someone odd, for she had always been encouraged to explore and find adventure. Curiosity had been her nature since birth. She decided right then and there to take that boy older than herself and show him that the world wasn’t as scary as he believed.
She returned to her scanning, determined to find some form of mischief to get involved in, when she spotted a dark figure hunched over a mound of sand pretending to be a sad-looking sandcastle. She stared, intrigued by the black shirt, black shorts, and black hair sitting stationary and alone in a sea of moving, colorful people.
“I think we should go help him,” she stated suddenly.
“What?” asked the boy, Nicolas. He followed the line of her eyesight and spotted the figure she was staring at. “Oh no,” he replied, fear welling up inside, “that sounds like a bad idea. He’s a stranger.”
“Not if you make friends with him,” she countered simply. She reached down and grabbed Nicolas’s hand and pulled him forward. “C’mon.”
They approached the strange boy together, Nicolas trailing reluctantly behind. The girl stooped beside the boy dressed in black and began shaping the sand he had been piling in front of himself. Nicolas stood several paces behind, observing as the other boy startled when he noticed her.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice sounding thin.
The girl ignored his question and smiled at him. “You have to build towers, like this.” She packed the sand high and patted it smooth with her small hands.
“I know how to build a sandcastle.” He dug out more sand and started building his own tower, mimicking the girl’s movements as he watched her from the corner of his eye.
“My name is Mercy and I’m five and a half,” she stated suddenly, giggling as the boy’s tower suddenly crumbled into his lap.
“I-I’m Jonathan,” he replied as he dusted the dirt from his shorts.
“How old are you, Johnny?”
He glanced at her, eyebrows raised at the nickname. “I’m ten.”
“That’s Nicky and he just turned eight.” She gestured to the blond boy standing behind her.
“Nicolas. My name is Nicolas England.” He extended his hand to the older boy, who looked at it for a moment before taking it in his own. To Nicolas’s chagrin, Jonathan’s hand was larger than his own.
“It’s nice to meet you, Nicolas.”
“Good, we’re all friends,” Mercy observed. “Now, let’s build a sandcastle!”
The sun reddened on the horizon before the three children parted ways. Nicolas nearly had to drag Mercy away from the beach and the large fort they had constructed. As the pair reached their parents, waiting where the beach met the blacktop parking lot, Mercy took one last glance at the ocean. There, standing right where the water foamed as it hit the sand, stood Jonathan. He was facing the waves and the darkening sky and then turned slowly in her direction. His eyes, a dark, troubled green, met hers and he smiled. She waved goodbye and turned to leave, her other hand holding onto her father’s.
♠ ♠ ♠
First chapter, finally! This is just a prologue. The real fun will start in the next chapter, which I hope to have up much sooner than the few months I worked on this one.I'm excited for this story. It's my first original fic in awhile. :)