Blue Water Brings Us Together//snare/night/open

Sand. Everywhere, sand. No matter which way he turned, there was a mountain of it, and it just kept falling. It had already entrapped him, and now it was building around his legs. He struggled, violently, but to no avail. He couldn't move anymore, even though the sand was only to the middle of his calf. So he stopped.

He was going to die. He hated to admit that to himself, it seemed like quitting. Death was so bleak, so final. Think, damn you, think! There has to be a way. There had to be a way. He couldn't die, not like this. The sand was filling rapidly, almost to his shoulders, and he--

Maverick Basking woke up lying on the beach, sputtering. There was something in his mouth, something grainy and disgusting. Spitting it out, he realized that it was just sand, and not any that had fallen from the sky. He had been sleeping on his right side, and it was in his hair and that ear now, too. Sighing, he combed his hair out with his fingers. Now he'd have to go home and wash, and listen to his mother rant about how dangerous it was to stay in the sun too long, and his father complain about how he shouldn't be lying around all day, regardless of the fact that it rarely happened. Besides, he had all his work done. The only thing left was to sit around at home, or stay here on the beach.

He decided the latter would do nicely. It was getting late, almost sunset, so he could stay and watch the day end. Cheesy as it was, he loved watching the sunset, and brought little Alex down to see it often. Alex. Where are you, you little rascal? In fact, he had brought his brother down here today after school for a picnic dinner, because there had been no work for him at the docks, all the boats being full. He glanced around for his sibling, shivering a bit at the breeze. That was odd. Though there was almost always an ocean breeze, his shirts were almost always warm enough to tolerate it. His shirt. Looking down, he realized he wasn't wearing one, and sighed.

Angering, he scowled. If that little dunce had taken his shirt, there would be hell to pay for it later. Looking about, he saw that Alex had, in fact, taken his shirt, unless the wind had. That seemed unlikely, though, as there were no towels, no picnic basket, and a large, very windblown picture of a face with its tongue sticking out. Running his hand through his hair, he stood and turned to go home, but a flutter of white caught his eye. Half buried in the sand, right where he had been laying, was his shirt. Which explained why he hadn't seen it; he had slept on it.

Leaning down, he plucked the shirt from the sand, shaking it out viciously. After a moment or two, he stopped to inspect, and upon finding it in a state of relative wearability once more, he slid it on. It was a cotton button up, one of his very favorites, soft all over and worn down to threads around the hem. He buttoned it up about half way, rolling his shoulders and pulling it this way and that, until it hung about his frame the way he liked. Smiling and content once more, he glanced around the beach to see if anything interesting was going on.

Seeing the sitting girl, not a terrible distance away, he didn't even stop to think about whether she would mind his company before beginning the short trek over. Of course not, a handsome stud like me? Everyone loves me. Especially me. Er, women.