A Handful Of Sand This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

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   I istood with my friends with the iwind billowing around me and the playful waves anxiously leaping toward the shores, as the sun slipped behind the horizon painting the sky with brilliant colors. It was our last night at the beach, we would be leaving in the morning, so we had come to say good-bye. We each bent over and scooped up a handful of the sand which, over the weekend, we had run through, dug in, and shared our secrets with. The point was to make a wish as the sand fell from our hands. Each of my friends let go of it, laughing as they made their wishes. I could not. I stared at my clenched fist unable to release the sand. Nobody knew what was wrong, but they encouraged me, and finally, I was able to open my hand slowly. One by one the grains of sand slipped through my fingers. I had no control over them. I could only watch as they fell away forever, some caught in the wind, others rejoining the countless other grains of sand on the beach. I shook uncontrollably and said nothing as we made our way back to the house. That night, as I huddled under the covers of my bed, I thought of all the dreams that had slipped away like the sand, and I cried. n


This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.






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