Taylor+Story+Opening

First part of my story so far:

As I stepped along gracefully to the rhythmic patterns of the waves crashing, I gazed into the horizon of water and sky taking in every bit of sunlight that I could. I was surprised, even though I spend every day here; I am always amazed to see the ocean. It sparkles and gleams gently, but crashes thunderously at the same time. How could anything that soft be so violent? I practically live on the beach. As a child, I would often times find myself hunting for seashells or letting myself be engulfed by each grain of sand molding to my body. During the day, I was exploring with my parrot, Honeycomb, while at night, I became lost in the stars. They covered the midnight blue sky with a shield from evil. It felt like nothing bad could ever happen when they were looking down upon you. And because of them, I truly never believed that anything bad would happen. That was, until the summer after my seventh grade year. My mother had always been the understanding one. She was so fragile, but adventurous. Nothing could break her, not even the violent waves plunging into the wet sand. Her bright green eyes were identical to mine, while she had straight, auburn hair. I shared my wavy blonde hair with my father. Freckles dotted his face like the night sky and his sea blue eyes mimicked the glittering water. My father, an architect, always had a way of knowing exactly what I was going to say before I actually said it. So while I cherished the conversation shared between us, the physical conversing was scarce. In the few moments with sparked verbal usage, he used to say the stars were all of his secrets, and one by one I would inherit this knowledge and this truth. I just thought that he used this as an excuse for a bedtime story, then, when my mom became sick, I knew that the stars were hiding themselves. I never learned that until my mom died.

It all began with one cough.

“Mom, do you want me to get some cough medicine?” “I’m fine honey, let me show you something.” It was an overcast day, with a blanket of fog and moisture suffocating the atmosphere. I let my long, blonde hair drape over my sticky skin. Tiny drops of water softly began tapping at the surface of sand and ocean. They danced across the waves, mocking them, rippling them. On the beach, rain droplets dampened the sand, plastering to my peachy skin. As we sat, waves crashed before us, rain fell like strands of crystals, and the sky adapted a tender gray. The sun hid away just as the stars did. Lightning lingered in our surroundings. We sat in silence, letting the moment seep under our skin. Almost in one motion, thunder trembled overhead and a flash of light split the grains of sand. My mom pulled me over to the spot where the lightning hit. I slowly crept beside her. “It’s okay, lightning never hits the same spot again,” she whispered. I had been told this many times, not even sure if it was really believable. In any case, I bent my head down to the sand, glass. There it was. A small, yet bold piece of glass etched into the surface of sand. “Breath taking. You know Schuy,” my mom always used called me this even though it wasn’t my name. She had always liked Schuyler better; said that if fit me more than my first name Lucy.