The Past Caught Up

This was essentially a story that I wrote when I was in high school as an exercise given by our teachers. I believe it was to sharpen our similes, metaphors and overall creative writing skills. And I'm happy to say it was a story that I was quite proud of. The only problem was I could remember the fundamentals of it but couldn't find the original so I rewrote this. I probably lack the same originality as the earlier version but I think it has the same spirit. In any case, enjoy. :)

The waves crashed loudly onto the side of the rocks. Down by the sandy beach the water swayed harshly back and forth. The wind is picking up, thought the lonely figure standing safely where the water cannot claw at him. 

The man looked on, onto the vast sea, the strong wind accompanied his gaze.

He stood for a long time. Remembering. Remembering the time before the decaying fences barricaded the edge where the sand meet the people. Remembering the time when everyone's favourite pastime was to lay on the golden dunes and embrace the warmth of the sun.

Remembering that one faithful day when he thought the world was against him and that Death whispered so closely in his ear.

That day, that wonderful day when the wind was none and the sun was friendly. And the waters, the waters were just heavenly to the touch. He pedalled and pedalled, on and on towards the distance, as the water touched his arms and the waves crashed against his young body he welcomed them all and waited for the biggest wave he can catch on his sturdy board.

But alas, no wave came but one cruel jerk, pulled him under as he hopelessly tried to cling onto the board. There was madness as he called for help, waved his hands violently, kicked and trashed to escape from whatever was holding onto him. In the distance he could see him. 

Brother! Help! The words formed in his mind, but he wasn't sure whether the voice came out of his mouth. I'm going to die, that was the only thing that ran through him. The hopelessness. 

The figure swam closer and closer. The water trashed even more than before. The wave crashed between the three figures. Limbs. Grey. Skin. Scale. Legs. Fins. He knew he could not stop moving. He kept kicking, punching at all cost. Regardless of what he kicked or punched. All he could see was just masses of limbs and hard scaly solid amongst the water. 

Soon enough he ran out of energy and the last thing he saw was sharp teeth and his brother and then blackness engulfed him. And that was the last thing he remembered of that day.

Now, the man edged forward as he noticed a small piece of wood lying amongst the sand. He picked it up and realised it was a part of a sign, the word 'beware' adorning it. He stared at it for a little while and a small smile came across his face. 

From behind him above the sandy beach on the paved road a car sounded its horn and he turned at the loud interruption. It was his brother calling him to get into the car. The man walked towards the road with the piece of wood clutched beside him and climbed out of the fence. As he was about to reach the car, he placed the board above another sign, straighten it, walked to the car and they drove away.

As he passed he glanced once more at the beach and the 'Beware of Sharks' sign and thought about it no more.