Creative Writing: The Beach

The beach was always such a peaceful place. Between the sand, the sun, and the waves, Mallon was lost in the overwhelming harmony she felt here. It was a rare pleasure, since her father toured around the world and didn't let his growing daughter sit and smell the salty air.

Of course, she couldn't sit still for long. Her hands began to shake, the toes to wiggle, and eventually she stood in the sand, brushed off her flowery dress, and started hunting for the elegant white shells that were obscured beneath the shifting ground. Here was one, ridged and ivory. Another sat spiraling in her hand, a gray thing with sharp points she had only noticed when she stepped on it. By the time the commotion began, Mallon managed to collect a skirt full of the little beasts.

Yelling was an everyday matter, and it fell on ears absorbed in the surf. But when the man came sprinting into view and collapsed at her feet, she was forced to look at him. Bites covered his legs, skin torn away from muscly shins and revealing bone the color of the shells she now held. Mallon took a shaky step backwards.

"You have to help me!" he pleaded with her, grabbing an arm. "They're coming."

Immediately after the words dropped from his panting mouth, two heavyset canines were upon him, their mouths already red from the wounds they ravished into him before. It was over in an instant. Teeth found his open throat and tore it open for the birds to see. Red poured out over the sand, mixing with the sea as it rushed up to claim its prize, already beginning to pull the body into it.

Suddenly, a man took the place of a wolf. As dark as his fur had been, he glowered down at the little girl. "Did he hurt you?" he mumbled. She was used to this. His voice was rarely more than a whisper; he preferred action rather than words. The black girls adorning her head bounced as she shook it slowly, eyes caught on the gore in front of her. "Come on,