One Word | H.S.

Chapter Thirty-One

For I fell in love on the shore, attempted to recreate as such.

~

Beach.

~

Pretty Boy has decided that the best place to go was the fucking beach.

Didn't bring my net, but I'm sure I can go crab hunting using my bare hands.

One minute, we were driving along the freeway, nothing but hypnotic music filling the tense inner of the vehicle. And now, Harry has abandoned me on a wooden dock as he prances down the sand like a giddy child.

He's seriously walking normally.

Well, not exactly prancing, rather walking at an extremely slow pace.

Whenever I need to catch up to Harry, the possibility of him leaving me behind on the forefront of my brain, he turns into Usain Bolt. A damn sports car, a jackrabbit, if we are getting technical.

And now, he is nothing short of a fucking snail.

Beggars can't be choosers.

The menacing waves collide with the ataraxy shore, the contrasting two occupying the never-ending coast. Illuminated by the Cheshire smile in the sky, the curvature in the surf is only slightly visible, the sound more potent than anything.

Not everyone's in Wonderland. Call it a fucking moon.

I peer down to my naked feet, my sneakers in hand as Harry continues to walk towards the shore, "Not gonna ask you again, Red." He calls, not even bothering to shift over his shoulder, "You better join me or your walkin' home."

I shall not move a muscle.

Nothing, and truly nothing, I would love more than a dallying stroll alongside the median of a highway. Though, I don't think the various drivers would appreciate such a terrible view.

You should walk on the actual road. Specifically, during rush hour.

My feet move against my will, the dampness of the sand engulfing my ankles as the traction makes it difficult to speed my pace. A sea-glow breeze presses against my body, my hair whipping in every direction as I make way to Pretty Boy.

Between the softness of the cool air, accompanied by the crisp sound of crashing ripples, I can't help but feel nostalgic.

Reminiscent of the time spent with Auggie, or even a time that has only occurred in my imagination, the ocean provides a constant feeling of recollection.

There's this specific thing about the beach, the shore specifically. Constantly polluted by the littering of trash, no matter the efforts of those who attempt to clean.

Booming waves continuously crash onto the already tattered sand, yet everything seems strangely calm.

The ocean is bustling, filled with wild-life as the sand is cluttered by vibrant shells. But, the chaotic nature of such a thing brings upon an out-of-body experience.

I guess you find peace in the most wild of things, Harry being proof.

The Caterpillar takes the hookah between his unnatural fingers, leaning back as he observes from afar, "She mustn't believe that everything is simply falling into place," He peers to the Mad Hatter, deep sighs coming from the pair as he shakes his head, "Allow her to dream a little longer, for this is the least of our worries." He breathes out.

My body catches to Harry's, his head whipping down to my tired self as he keeps his hands engulfed in his pockets. Neither of us speak, just proceed down the new territory.