The water was an ominous grey. It rolled toward him in gelatinous masses so great that the aquatic body itself seemed to laboriously heave it toward the shore. A living entity, out of breath.

The clouds obscured the sun, so no light played on the surface to differentiate one wave from another. Only as they broke against the sand could he tell where one crested or another trough began.

A sound within stirred him. He had been entranced by the ocean’s ebbing all morning, and it had allowed him to ignore the stabbing discomfort that hunger afforded him. He thought his stomach had been far past its wailing. He had lost track of the hours. The chill that had penetrated his musculature was the only thing that he could be sure of. He felt that his bones were saturated with ocean water, undeniably crusted with its salt. The water he had been unable to cough up was likely pooled in the bottom of his lungs. His skin probably rubbed raw on the windward side, impregnated with gust-kicked sand.

He was startled by a sudden warmth brushing his arm. A pair of timid brown eyes regarded him. His daughter held out a peanut butter sandwich. His face contorted into what he hoped was an appreciative smile, cracking the dried tears, sand, and elements that clung to his cheeks and lips. They sat in silence as the man tore off bits of the bread and chewed slowly.

He looked upon her face. It was cherub-like in its features, and expressive for her young age. She stared at the sand. She pinched sea grass between her toes, disregarding its sharp edges.

Their quiet existence was ripped apart as he broke bowls and plates and ran out onto the beach, as she watched from behind the slider door. His jaw slack in an animal scream, though the wind of that same storm muted the guttural noises that elicited from his broken heart. The pain broke his stance, he retreated to his knees, and there he remained, paying penance for two days.