Becoming Anne Again

Chapter Five

The Cuthberts had long since retired to their bed when Anne ran outside, her feet bare so she could feel the cold sand squish beneath her toes. The saltiness of the air completely engulfed hair, and despite the dark that had cloaked the beach, she could still make out the shimmering crests of waves before they turned into white sea foam. The breeze felt bitterly cold against Anne's bare skin, but she loved how the shiver ran up her spine. Pebbles engrained themselves in the bottom of her foot, and the shells that were scattered along the beach cut into her skin with their sharp edges. The pain felt good. She felt so alive.

Her fingers played with the hem of her tee shirt before lifting it up and ridding herself of the government, left only with a bra that had lost its underwire long ago. Next she shed her Walmart jeans, that had attained rips not manufactured previous to her wearing them. Her underwear was thin and barely protected herself, but that didn't bother her as she began to spin and dance along the beach, her laugh sounding spiteful and sharp, bitter and ironic. She was all these things in one as she shimmied her hips, before opening up her legs and wiggling side to side.

Her hair whipped around her face, and she in her near naked state, she appeared to be a part of the ocean, a wild eyed ocean imp ready to wreak havoc on her human brother and sisters. Her feet moved of their own accord, and she continued her crazed, seductive dance, speeding up and slowing down with the beat of the ocean. Whish. She rolled her hips from side to side. Crash. She dropped down to her feet before slowly rolling up, her fingers tracing up her body.

In one of the houses, a window facing the ocean lit up, and she dropped down to her knees as the shade was pulled up. The water seeped under her calves, feeling like ice on her already freezing skin. Slowly, she pressed her hands to both sides of her and turned to face the ocean, creeping a bit closer to the water and letting it cover her palms, and then the back of her hands, until her calves were completely submerged in the water.

The dark water swirled around her, and her eyes swirled with it. She could throw herself into it night, the finale to her dangerous dance. Slowly, she got up, walking further and further out, her raw skin becoming numb as she willed herself to keep going.

The light never went out, and instead the window creaked as the pane was forced upward. Anne turned too quickly at the sound, and the sand caught her feet and caused her to fall on her bruised side. She lay there, the water washing over, her mouth barely above the water, and often not when a sizeable wave crashed over her. A dark haired boy poked his head out the window, his handsome face illuminated by the lamp behind him. His eyes pierced the beach, searching for the sound of that crazy laugh, and he could barely make out red hair and a lithe figure, declothed of everything save what appeared to be an old, white bikini. He didn't see her sand covered clothes, nor the way her eyes pierced right back at him. He could sense, however, that he held her gaze, and he leaned a little further out the window. She was almost completely submerged, and his full lips bent down in a frown. She appeared to be completely still, and she was. Her breathing had even slowed, her chest rising and falling erratically, but nonetheless not often. This was her tryst with the ocean and sirens.

The boy's head disappeared inside of his room, the window was closed, and Anne sat back and let the ocean encompass her once again. The place where her thighs met felt excruciatingly cold, but the pain felt familiar, so she rocked back and forth and made no effort to save herself. She could taste the salt on her lips, her eyes stung and she could feel sand in between her teeth. So perhaps it wasn't as romantic a death as she would have wished, but from afar, her skin still looked luminescent beneath the brooding water.