The Bluestocking 2023-24

Kasey Kim Grade 12 Saemangeum

Twice a day it visited, whispering a shushing lullaby. We had relied on its presence, our lives intertwined with the bi-daily cycle of salty water flooding our home. But no longer did I feel its cool embrace nor hear its song. Only the tormented wails of the wind and the crashing of foaming fists pounding against cement echoed across the tidal flats. Oblivious to the reason why we were abandoned, we turned to the remaining moisture in the sand to save us. “It’ll come back; it will bless us with its refreshing waves once again,” we whispered. But the surface stayed inhospitable. Dry sand cracked, baking in the heat of the sun as the air wavered. The days passed, and as the remnants of the sea slowly leached away from the ground, we burrowed deeper. Darkness enveloped each day, our dreams filled with the past. On the last day of waiting, the sand softened, turning dark with moisture. We rushed to greet the sea, digging through to the surface to meet it one last time. It wasn't the sea. The sky was weeping for our misfortune, but the grief didn’t last. The clouds soon cleared, leaving us bare to the harsh sunlight. Wait for the tide as we might, the only thing that came closer was the end.

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