An exercise for my Persuasive Writing class. Winter makes me talk about the beach.
Sand scratched my shoulders and the bottoms of my feet, itchy with salt water. I watched ichthyomorphic clouds sit blobularly in the sky. Intorted waves threw a dead fish next to my toes; its tessellated scales were peeling and it already smelled. I walked toward the jetty, stepping around crabs that were cutting anfractuous paths through the shells and the sea grass. There was an old man standing on the rocks; a fishing pole dangled from his hand. His skin hung from his bones like an oversized leather jacket; a scraggy white beard hung down to his belly button; dark hair tufted along his shoulder blades. My brother fishes. He takes a boat into the waves and comes home—sandy and salty and sunburned—with a cooler full of fish. We wrap them in foil and lemon and pepper and grill them until their tessellated scales peel off with the blackened tinfoil.
