Ocean's View

• Leteisha Curtis, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2013

The crystal clear water crashes against the jagged edges of the rocks, causing a white layer of froth that’s like a blanket of snow. The grass and bushes envelopes the cliff, like it’s trying to hide the surface of the rocky cliff. The pure whiteness of the light house looks eerie and fake against the green bushes. The clouds are faded, like smoke blown there and slowly but surely fading away.

The smell of salt fills the air, lingering in my nose for what feels like forever. The sound of the waves crashing against the rocks is so loud but yet so peaceful. The cry of the sea birds is a constant distance drone. The cry of a whale is a high pitch whine; it sounds melancholy, like it’s trying to find its way but is constantly at a dead end and doesn’t know what to do next. The whistling of the wind is loud and hostile, but it belongs there it sounds almost human, beckoning you to jump into the cold caressing water. The rustling of the bushes somehow give the beautiful landscape a creepy feeling. It gives the place a sinister but interesting feeling, balancing out the joy and happiness with a bitter feeling.

I stand around looking at the beautiful scenery for what feels like ages, just looking. I jump into the air and clasp my hands together in front of me and angle my body so I go hand first in the diamond like shimmering water, never to face the ugliness of the city again. Never to feel the pressure of the work place again, never to be stuck behind a desk again blankly staring at a computer screen. Never to see or feel the earth’s crust again.