The Boy Who Could Walk on Sand.
There once was a boy from far, he knew not what is limits are. That was as much rhyming as I could get into one story…
The boy was named Peter, Peter Sandfoot. A fitting name for a boy who’s feet were made of sand. He could lay in bed, he could sit in a chair, but he couldn’t go anywhere. Yes that was another rhyme, but it was unintentional. You see If Pete tried to walk he feet would crumble under the pressure. There was no cure, now amount of science that could fix the boy, he was simply an oddity.
He dragged himself from here to there, he dragged himself everywhere. Sometimes it’s just easier to rhyme, ESPECIALLY when it works. The one place he never dragged himself to was the beach, or a ply ground with sand. It would seem like the logical thing to do, being his feet are made of sand… But the thought just never crossed his mind, not to mention he just hated sand. It was dirty.
On his 27th birthday, he decided he had enough of the home life. He had enough of being trapped by his own freakishness. Pete was going to drag himself to the beach. He was going to ignore his hatred of the very thing that is part of his body. Pete lived deep in the San Fernando Valley, the ocean… A far crawl.
Pete hated people, hated public transportation, and hated anything that would make his life even a little easier. He would rather suffer. the scrapes and bruises, that come with dragging yourself around for 20+ years.
After a couple days of hard crawling, a few close calls with cars, and vehicles of the like, he sat at the foot of the Beautiful Malibu ocean. He took in all the sites, all the sounds. The ocean crashing on the shore, kids and people playing or laying in the sun. The edge of the sand was right at his finger tips, right within his grasp. Did he come here to die? surely Pete wouldn’t want to make the journey back to the deep Valley.
The sun began to set and Pete just sat there, waiting for something, anything, that would make him go where he dragged himself, onto the sand. Nothing came. No one to prompt him or help him. No one to push him the extra foot, no support system, then there was her.
She wasn’t an ugly girl, or a skinny girl, she was completely average, from head to toe. Her identifying marker were he black framed glasses and her incredible long hair that drapped over her head like a mop. She was no hipster, he could tell from the angle, this poor girl was blind as a bat. She sat down next to him, HIM, the guy with the sand for feet. “What are you waiting for?” She asked while adjusting her glasses. Why was she talking to him? How did she know he was waiting? How long did she watch him waiting? Did she see him drag himself here? “I’m not sure.” he answered as if this were a normal situation. “The sand likes your feet.” He looked at his feet. “Are my feet.” he quickly replied. “It’s amazing what you can do when you just let go and listen.” The girl moved the hair from her ears, and revealed to Pete, the most incredible ears he has ever seen. They were beautiful, shaped like butterfly wings, and when they fluttered she could hear anything. “The sand is welcoming you.” Peter didn’t know what to do. All he could od is smile. For the first time in his entire life, Pere Sandfoot smiled. Smiled a huge genuine smile. He felt a warmth roll over his body, a flutter in his heart. He didn’t think he just listened. Slowly, Peter stretched his legs towards the sand, getting ever closer. Before he touched the warm grains her looked at her once more, he smiled.
To describe the feeling would be impossible to do, the best anyone could do is try. Like skiing down a mountain, surfing a never ending wave, running your fingers across the top of water, Peter Sandfoot could glide across the sand effortlessly. He no longer had to drag himself anywhere, he longer had to suffer the misery that was his life. For the first time in 27 years, Peter Sandfoot was free. After sliding through the sand for what seemed like forever he returned to where he and the butterfly eared girl were sitting, but she was gone. Without a single good bye, with out a name to follow, Peter was alone again. He was free, but Peter Sandfoot, was alone.
