I dip my feet in the water, the rush of salty sea water seeping into my skin. I smile. Rays of sunlight glint overhead, and chattering seagulls fly past. Gentle waves push up against my skin, before folding away again beneath the sea's ocean. The summer breeze let's my hair run free, blowing about in the wind. I take a step. And another. Gradually, I make my way over the sandy beach, looking out into the skyline, and enjoying some fresh air for once, without being disturbed with loud noises. Now, I can just listen to the waves, the waves that come back and forth, all the way down the beach...
I place myself in the shadow of a tree, a few minutes later, ipod speakers to my ear. No one seems to be chilling out on the beach, except me, but I notice the many footprints in the sand, from earlier or days in the past. I let my fingers wrap around the sand that reaches my fingertips, slowly falling between the gaps, and back down to the rest.
As I turn my head to look to the other side of the beach, I suddenly notice a figure, standing by the shore. A boy. A teenager. His brown-ish hair is fairly short, ruffled a bit, and he's wearing checkered shorts and a plain top. I watch as he looks out over the ocean, hands in his pockets, and I wonder if he even noticed me here.
Anyhow, I unplug my earphones, slip my ipod into my pocket, and get up, ducking under the branches, and walking away. I stare down at my watch, which reads the time: 6:30, and I know I have to be back in time for dinner at 7. As I reach the road, I cross over as usual, before jumping over the clean, white fence, into the meadow. Little daisies are beginning to grow, amongst the knee-height grass, and I smile, adventuring further until I reach the small path I've been looking for.
Taking it with no hesitation, I start to walk along the cobbled stone, shoes scuffing against the stones. I hadn't had the chance to buy any flip-flops yet, seeing as we'd just moved here, but I guess I'll have to spend some of my pocket money on that, seeing as my mother is too busy searching for a new job.
As I reach the end of the path, right before me stands a cute, little cottage, the door bordered with bright, red roses, and the roof, thatched, a little chimney peeping over the top. The windows are small, but sweet, and the square shaped grass in front seems tiny, a washing line folded up, standing in the middle of it. My home.
Well, it doesn't really feel like my home, yet. We moved in 2 days ago, me and my mum. Just the two of us. We didn't like it in the city - although it had many job oppurtunities, none seemed to match my mother's high expectations. But at least here we have nice scenery, the beach just down the lane, so there's much more for me to do, and to look at.
When I reach the door, I notice an oval shaped window near the top, covered with stained glass, and beside it is a number: 1. 1 is the number that everyone assumes is the best - admit it. The beginning of a new start, which would make sense for us, but 1 is not only that, it's the leader, the one in which all the others follow. Maybe this is a good thing, maybe it's a bad, but I'm never to be sure really. I'll just have to see how all the rest follows...to see if they follow our lead...