Love letters in the sand.

This is a story about unlikely lovers from different worlds. One’s a cop from a small tourist village and the other is a strung out actress living hard and fast from Hollywood.


1. The Nor’easter

The deep black waters of the Atlantic churned under the force of the Nor’easter; whipping the wave tips into a fine, needlelike spray that filled the air with a stinging, salty mist. Where the horizon ended and the sea began was a mystery, for what feeble rays the waning sun managed to offer were quickly swallowed by the dark clouds and the angry surf. As the last remnants of daylight died, and as the already anemic sky was bled of color, the evening faded into a cold, monochrome seascape of black and gray.

Walking on the balls of her feet through the deep sand made the women’s movements look small and furtive. With her head down and shoulders rolled forward she moved with a purpose though. Whether it was one of destination or one of escape, she could not have told you. She just drew her coat tighter and kept moving.

Soon her clothes became damp and stiff with cold. When her shoes filled with wet sand she abandoned them to stumble on barefoot into the night. When the numbing cold and fatigue finally caught up with her, she paused long enough to wipe the damp hair out of her eyes and look around. Lights from the homes that clustered the seaside cul-de-sac next to hers were no longer visible. She did not know if she had walked two miles or ten, and she didn’t care.

She felt she should walk on forever, or better yet; close her eyes and walk into the sea. She imagines the cold water surging against her knees and lapping against her stomach. By the time it reached her chest her feet would already be numb. By the time the dark water closed over her head her mind would be free, within minuets, maybe even before she drowned, the cold would kill her.

Loathed to live yet too afraid to die, she sank to her knees allowing her sobs to be carried away by the wind. In total despair, the last thing she remembers before blackness washes over her is the roar of the waves, and the salty taste of the surf on her lips.

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