As she stepped onto the veranda of her vacation home, the waves broke down the beach with a soothing rush, and her eyes watered from the heavy salt in the air. The humid air felt thick, yet the sun shone brightly overhead, dispelling any melancholy.
She took a few small steps till her bare feet touched the edge of the stairwell to the opulent beach mansion. Her wavy, red hair wafted lightly through the breeze, which sang by with a calm suddenness. How did she manage to get so lucky?
The minerals flung into the air by the ocean's action were abundant. The sky was dizzyingly light, much like the sun. With the passage of time, the clouds roamed aimlessly. Seagulls croaked and squawked as they dug in the dirt for their delicious, hidden treasures at the wettest portion of the beach.
She flowed down the stairs with a relaxed ease, the gritty wood beneath her bare feet making no objections to her light-footed ways. She paused on the bottom stair, taking in even more of the beauty. She let her thoughts soak it in way a thirsty, stranded person would water.
Despite the fact that the waves shook in the distance, the woman remarked that the water was not rough enough to reach the coast. It slid into the sand with haste, leaving a soaked mud track in its wake as it withdrew toward the ocean. The sloshes in the environment around her were brought into the atmosphere by the natural movements, and that was how it would always be.
Her porcelain-colored leg moved till her toes sunk into the sand that clung to every stride she took. Her other leg trailed behind her, and she inhaled deeply. She couldn't think of a better place to be. It was a beach with a unique climate; the sand was neither burned by the summer sun or frozen into clumps by the winter chill. It was always a pleasant experience.
Her feet floated along the grainy particles as she walked, making little effort to pick them up. She was alone, therefore she didn't want her voice's high-pitched vibration to disturb the elements around her. She only needed her home and her waves.
Her house, which she'd lived in for nearly a century, was perched high on stilts. The sticks of wood had been replenished and cared for on a regular basis. She admired the fact that no matter how many people moved in and out of her neighborhood, they had remained. The windows, on the other hand, had a long life.
They'd been rectangular shutters for ten years. They were then turned into circular globes of exposure once another family settled in–nice and snug as the home. She remembered braces forming lovely arches and smaller triangles facing the lake. The home's magnificence was enjoyed for twenty-five years by the laughing and thrilled children of the younger couple who took it over.
The man was as calm as the place he'd chosen to call home. The woman was glad to see someone so content in their solitude. He rarely left, and she saw that he only did so when he ran out of books to scan and reside in. The anonymous man's love of books resulted in a slew of tall bookcases. They'd gleefully adorned the walls with worlds upon worlds of information. When she reflected on those fifteen years, the woman always smiled. The woman found herself reading the books for her own enjoyment during the man's rare forays out to find another world to immerse himself in.
As she cautiously strode back into the home she'd always claimed, the silence, like her death, offered her calm. Many people may be perplexed as to how she came to live in such a magnificent seaside house while life passed her by. Life's progress and happiness kept her going–kept her lingering as the place's self-proclaimed guardian. She decided such a gracious home deserved it, and it was the best decision she'd ever made. The woman was amused by all the lives, changes, and improvements to the exquisite mansion that had regained its stillness. She knew she'd never experience living and change again, but she could at least watch others do it.
She stayed silent as she clicked the entrance door to the house shut. She would not disrupt the silence as long as it persisted. As her feet padded along the planks of the newly wooded floors, the long, beautiful gown she wore slid down to her ankles. It was a new makeover and a new way of life for her house. Because the couple who lived in her house tried to cram as much as they could into it before abandoning it, there was hardly no furniture. The woman, on the other hand, seemed unconcerned with that aspect of her life. She thought the small breaks between people's visits to her house were a type of purgatory–even a break–for it.
Many people may be curious as to how her life ended in the house where she had lived for nearly a century. How did she pass away? Why did she decide to stay? The answer is easy, and it would stay with her as long as she stayed at her quiet seaside house.
