So if you read yesterday's post you know I'm not in the same upbeat mood today that I was yesterday. I don't know why, I'm just in a funk. Could be the overcast that accompanied my awakening. Could be the ache that relocated from my right knee to my left hip. (Why did that happen and who can I blame?) It's probably a good thing that the phone hasn't rung and only the mail carrier has been here so far today. Maybe word about the red shoes has gotten out.
Last night I didn't stay up too late but when I started writing the prompt, I promptly fell asleep after two sentences. I didn't think I was that sleepy, but evidently I was. I couldn't in all good conscience leave it at that so I sat down and scribbled a bit more after my shower. I am not expecting a Pulitzer for this one. No siree.
April 20--Juist, Germany. The white sand was thick with the brightly colored cabana chairs. There was no thyme or reason to their placement except that they were all far above the high tide and they covered an area about the size of a football field. The chairs faced ever which way, which Greta sort of liked. She didn't relish the long gauntlet of watching eyes that she would have to walk past as she strolled the beach. The way they were now no matter where she walked in the vicinity hidden eyes could be seeing her, marking her passage. All her life she had heard about how pure, how healthful the air was on Juist. Now that she was there she thought the air was the same as it was in town, clogged with noise from the electronic gadgets everyone seemed to have implanted in their hands and ears. The shrill voices of playing children and giggling teens rent the peace no matter where she went up and down the beach, and now she had come upon this odd little village of cabana chairs. She made up her mind to avoid this place for the rest of her stay. The blank faces in the shadows, faces with large glittering eyes, gave her the creeps and made her walk faster.
Sorry for sullying your day with this crap, I just had to get it out.