READ THIS NOW: Extremely sorry for the lack of updates in about a gajillion years. x3 However, I update this when I have been inspired by something. A note about this story. I was at the beach and along came hurricane Irene. We had to evacuate because we were on a terribly narrow strip of writing. While I was there I just wanted to practice writing whatever came to mind. Basically, this is kind of strange-ish. I don't know if you'll get anything out of it. Tell me what you think of it though, and if you did get something out of it, tell me what is is. I did it in the third person this time, just for a change. ^^

Oh yeah. I went over my word limit. *dies* It's 708 words. . *hits self with frying pan*

Taste it in the Salt

Sand, the pounding of the waves, and flimsy wood. These are the things she knows.

A worn house with a puce-ish shade of siding and orange shutters and a view of the ocean. These are also the things she knows.

She likes the place because when she steps out onto that splintering deck of hers, the wind stirs a feeling inside of her. It is an excitement, an itch, a longing. She can taste it in the salt. It feels so close, and she washes it down with coffee.

An old key that is starting to rust digs into the palm of her hand, the key that opens up her shop. She knows what sort of day is in store for her—a day the same as before.

She can taste it in the salt.

She kills it with the smell of the AC as her shop door opens.

A brown paper bag is in her arms, and she is making the same small talk as before with the cashier. She can tell she'll always have this conversation and never get any closer to becoming friends. She knows.

She can taste it in the salt.

She drowns it later as she raises a shot of vodka to her lips.

The next day as she curses at the sand in her sheets, she knows that it is going to be different.

She can taste it in the salt.

She's run out of coffee.

"A hurricane is heading this way."

Everyone is saying it.

At the grocery store she listens to their whispers.

"Will there be a mandatory evacuation?"

"Who knows, maybe."

"Are you gonna stay if there isn't?"

"Hell no. It's a category four. You?"

"I think I'll take my chances and board up real good. I live a little ways inland."

She tunes out the conversation. She touches the rusty key in her pocket and debates with herself—stay or leave?

She will stay. She can taste it in the salt. And not even the cheap vodka she brings to her mouth can wash it away.

The old phone with the chord attached to it rings. It never rings, but today is different. So she answers.

"Hello, how may I help you?"

A pause. Then a voice. "Are you planning on staying?" It's a concerned voice, one that she recognizes, yet it brings no comfort.

"Yes." Short answers suite her best.

"Hun, you live on the narrowest part of the island. You've got to leave."

"I've got no place else to go."

"Don't say that. Your father and I will let you stay here with us."

Away? Away from the sand and the sea and the salt? Away from the stirring wind?

"I'm staying."

"Don't do this to your papa and I. Why are you staying?"

"I can taste it in the salt." She can.

"Enough nonsense. Come home. God, hun, we've been waiting for years. I know we've had our misunderstandings—"

"The people here don't know me. You don't know me." I don't know me, she wants to say. "I want to see this place change for once."

"But hun… It's going to change all right. It's not going to be there anymore." The voice is tight and worried.

She doesn't care. She won't tell them that she wants to change. She can taste it in the salt.

The day before the hurricane has gorgeous weather, and for once she leaves her shop closed. Nobody is out on the beaches. There's just her and the ocean. It's been her constant companion for these long years. It looks agitated. Angry. Already swollen a bit.

"All hell's gonna break loose tomorrow," she says. Talking to the ocean like a mad woman. "The change feels nice, doesn't it?"

A nagging feeling tugs at her. It tells her this hurricane won't wash away what is true and what has happened. But like the taste of the salt on her tongue, she ignores the feeling. She turns her focus to the feeling of water around her ankles. She watches as the sun rises high into the sky, making a glimmering streak on the ocean's surface. Tomorrow will pass as it always does. And she will be here to see it happen.

By the way, thanks for those who reviewed last time - I seriously cherish every review I get. :)