They departed, the gods, on the day of the strange tide. All
morning under a milky sky the waters in the bay had swelled and
swelled, rising to unheard-of heights, the small waves creeping
over parched sand that for years had known no wetting save for
rain and lapping the very bases of the dunes. The rusted hulk
of the freighter that had run aground at the far end of the bay
longer ago than any of us could remember must have thought it
was being granted a relaunch. I would not swim again, after
that day. The seabirds mewled and swooped, unnerved, it seemed,
by the spectacle of that vast bowl of water bulging like a
blister, lead-blue and malignantly agleam. They looked
unnaturally white, that day, those birds. The waves were
depositing a fringe of soiled yellow foam along the waterline.
No sail marred the high horizon. I would not swim, no, not ever
again.
Someone has just walked over my grave. Someone.
Sounds like the adult novelization of Garden State.
That's worse than that book I wrote about my cat dying
Nah, I threw it in a fire
Sounds like the adult novelization of Garden State.:lol, god that was such a emofest movie.