| She glanced up at the sky, with its ever-changing hues, still relaxing in the warmth of the sun after a long swim in the ocean. Her hair, golden and flowing, relaxed in nearly dry curls about her face and body. She glanced over the waves with now green, now blue eyes, surveying the pattern of too many gulls dancing on the gentle breeze. Every so often, a cry would sound over the water, though quickly drowned by the ever-present crashing of the surf upon the beach.
To get a clear picture of her face, one would first have to brush away the wild wisps of flyaway curls which kissed her cheek. And then to remove the shadow from her face, one would have to remove the gray-green fishing hat, weathered from far too many afternoons on the beach, and still more early mornings on the water. Once you have passed through her shadow, you must get through her countenance, for she wore one that spoke of a past long gone, but not forgotten. But as for her appearance, after one has gotten past the abundant curls and hat shadow, one would find that she lacked the high cheekbones and dark complexion common to most who lives and worked near the turbulent waters of the ocean. Yes, her hair was light, and so was her skin. Though she had a honeyglow tan from the work she did in the morning and the play she did in the afternoon, it was more than evident that she was noticeably lighter than her ocean side companions. Her eyes were deep, and always seemed to be in search of something. Though definitely round in shape, there was a slightly noticeable narrowing at each outer limit, making her eyes a curiosity among her people. As the ocean has emotion, and colors each emotion with deep blues and emerald greens, so were the colors of her eyes a telltale sign of her mood. In instances of extreme emotion, such as joy or pain or sorrow, each iris would shine a pure and driving shade of green, varying with intensity based on the strength of her emotion. Eventually, after going through blues of all shades and an occasional brown, she would relax and her eyes would return to a normal neutral gray. Her lips were normally pale, turning deep red when aroused or angered. They were thin in themselves, but well-shaped and pretty. She had no dimples, and had no need of them, for when she laughed or smiled, she made use of thin lines that crinkled about her eyes like tiny fissures created by joy. On her weathered, yet young, face, they belonged. The features of her face were owned by the face, and yet were not the slaves of it. Each detail seemed to shine of its own accord, reveling in the purity of natural and unassisted beauty. She had the kind of eyebrows one would wish to touch and smooth, though they needed no smoothing � not by the hand of man, at least. She picked up a pebble, unusually beautifully colored, and tossed it into the surf with a flick of her wrist. Dangling from her wrist, and sparkling in the near dusk sunlight, was a small silver chain with a small star of a crystal gem. It, being the only ornament she wore, was only a close second when matched against the luster of her ever-changing eyes. She wore a thin tunic made of a soft material, sewn by her now deceased grandmother. The garment was tattered, ragged at the edges, and had patches of the same, yet differently colored, material stitched in at places by her own untaught hand. The sleeves now were nearly nonexistent, having been ravaged by the storms and the winds of the years. Though she had had the tunic for many years, it fit her quite well now, for her grandmother had known she was about to pass on, and so made it big enough to last her many years on the beach. Since her grandmother, her sole guardian and companion, passed away, the girl was alone. She knew next to nothing about her own self and her background. Her grandmother was dumb and could not speak, and so could not tell her the things she would have liked to know about herself. The only images in her mind concerning her past were shady outlines of events, and not all of them made sense. In fact, most did not. Hers was a confused existence to say the least. Yet, she did what she had to day by day, in order to survive the shifts in the storm patterns, and to catch food. She had no time to herself to find out things of relatively little importance to survival. Yet as time went by, and people began to be interested in her existence, she became more and more curious. It was, at first, a bitter feeling in the pit of her heart, a troublesome stone in her sandal. And she went on, in her way, to alleviate some of the curiosity by speaking to the shore people whom she had resided alongside for years without communication. In the beginning it was a simple asking of the weather predictions for the coming month, but presently it longed to be something more. She found that she had an unquenchable thirst for this thing called conversation, and longed to know more and more about people. In a way, she hoped it would help her to find out who she was. And as this hunger grew, so did her lust for the truth about her past. She picked up an exquisitely detailed shell from the sand, looked at it briefly, and with a flick of her wrist, tossed it lightly into the surf. The sun sank quickly into the horizon line and hid itself from the sparkling jewel. |