She made the steeple right across from the bakery with such care you would think she was a true architect of buildings.
Spending hours out of the day, she would pour the sand into buckets and stack them methodologically until they built the skyscrapers she saw in her imagination.
The Church stood on the left, the market place a few inches down the road, a seashell signifying the town’s emblem, a few small shells that were named from various people in her life. All placed in the exact position her providence desired.
It was truly grand. It was magnificent. It was the sand castle other children only dreamed about. Yet, it was high tide.
Salty tears welled up within her and streamed down her dimpled-cheeks until there were none left.
All her hopes and dreams dashed by the billowing waves of the sea. The shells swept away under the great mountains of water. The Church left asunder.
She wiped away any tears that were left and looked to the sea to watch the sun saying goodnight.
Somehow creating a half-crooked smile, she decided to tenaciously build again tomorrow…and the next…and the next in hopes that the waves would be polite and allow her small town to fulfill its purpose of commerce.
Her parents walked up and greeted the stubborn, hopeful girl with a hug and promised her that there would be a tomorrow.