sand castles

His hand plunged deep into the limpid pool and dug hungrily into the sandy bottom, as though probing the pregnant bellies of shipwrecks and robbing the swollen wombs in craven fistfuls. Charlie piled wet sand with each stroke of his arm at the waters edge. His knees and free hand on which he propped himself over the small pool dug through the surface of burning grains, finding respite in cooler ones below. Each further dig of the little pool grew the surplus of wet sand around its edges forming a crude wall, which quickly dried as the water drew away from the surface and was absorbed into the hot sand below. He molded as he wished, the fortifications and architecture. He was King, Pharaoh and Slave, Mason, Weaver, Baker, Prince, Lord and Shepherd. Stories threaded through his mind as he wove his fable; and in each story, mythology therein dictated the paths and fates of the populace. Under the burning summer sun on this beach, anywhere, everywhere and nowhere of consequence, people lived lives riddled with spectacular adventure and died even more spectacular deaths, if not tragic, within the walls of Charlie’s tiny city. There were colors not found on Earth, and music played with as yet invented instruments. The people whispered assurances to the ground, to the pebbles holding idly in their places, to the creeping greens and every living thing; they offered reverent refrains to the firmament; they could with their very wills reverse the properties of matter: water to stone, air to water, earth to fire. Creation was a matter of everyday life in the realm of Charlie; everyone was a magician appropriate to their conviction or vocation. Behind Charlie’s back however, there was a sinister and very real influence coming from a place he could not control no matter the strength of his will. As it was with each passing moment, the tide seemed to dash its percolating fingers further inland, and Charlie’s little pool was filled afresh with frothing and turbulent water. Bits of his wall began to erode and melt back into the pool, but he continued unperturbed. With steady movements he stayed ahead of the minor destruction and setbacks with small repairs as needed and other superficial reconstructions. His moat grew deeper as the walls surrounding grew higher and the coming ocean obligingly filled it up. He began to grin, being happily tugged from his imaginations to face the teasing ocean. His original intent cast to the buffeting breeze to be carried off to the next little boy, it was a race now, a test of wills. The ocean spread mightily forth beyond the horizon, capable of hurricanes, sinking ships, drawing in restless ones seeking adventure only to be dashed by its will, touching thousands of other shores and governing life on Earth, yet its focus at this moment was on Charlie. They fought, one building one quietly taking away. The moment he turned away to reinforce a foundation or buttress, a small wave would surge and take out an entire wing of his sprawling citadel. Charlie needed to work fast and keep his eyes ocean-side at all times. He began to work more fervently, two hands at a time digging out handfuls like a dredger out of the pool and up the side of the walls. The sea took cue and launched a counter attack sending tidal waves into the little canyon, boiling and churning in playful anger. At last the scene devolved into a frenzy of water and sand. Then, in an act of joyful futility, Charlie launched himself in front of the onslaught of foaming ribbons, kicking with all his might and bubbling with laughter, sending a million liquid globes of bright prisms dancing through the air, each carrying with it a piece of his castle. Charlie drained one last radiant bellow from his lungs and fell back, resting with his hands behind him propping his reclined body - a smile plastered under the tired, moistened brow and framed on either side by the tousled shirtsleeves of his shrugged shoulders. The currents relented to a mild riffle over his feet in a gesture of friendship and mutual respect, and quiet descended. The far off voices of children down the beach could be heard, punctuated by gulls complaining to one another further out over the undulating blue. Charlie was victorious, conquering the sea and the world. His creation stood attacks from the mightiest force, and remained. His head rolled back onto his shoulders, he closed his eyes and breathed a deep sigh of satisfaction through his grinning face. He felt the sun permeating every pore of his skin.
Just then, Stephen, Charlie’s older brother dashed up, slugged him in the ear, “Loser,” he called him and kicked his castle about, sending it back into the little well from which Charlie dragged his dreams. Before the smile could leave his face, he was beaten and his realm destroyed behind his recoiling body. What sort of King was he who couldn’t stand up for his people, for himself? Perhaps he deserved it. The pain never set in, as it didn’t any longer. Anymore all he felt was a knot in his stomach: disappointment, shame, embarrassment, and weakness. Then the sea crept in, again, finally, and silently sweeping away all traces of Charlie’s walls, his battlements, his little crumbling parapets from where he was Lord…and there was no Stephen.