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THE BEACH The sunrise. What a sight. The dreary dark of the night is lifting. It is being invaded by my strong sunrays. The silver ark has finally vanished. The night finished, my stretched arms appear filling the beach like a toddler colouring in their colouring book. Not perfect but getting there. My vibrant yellow and orange rays pierce through the cold of the night seeking out the damp from under the rocks warming every crack. As I was filling the beach with warmth I noticed a beautiful looking crab scuttling across the shoreline zigzagging and darting across the golden sand, trying to get to the rock pools adjacent to the beach. The shell was a mixture of colours: crimson, grey and verdant blending into an inky blue. Along the coastline the crab picked up some food that he could eat. The crab used his mammoth pincer to pluck the food out of the moist sand. I noticed that the crab wasn't normal. Instead of scuttling gracefully it seemed to hobble. This unfortunate crustacean had lost a leg and a pincer from a battle bravely fought The mist by the sea cliffs is starting to vanish and the sea fog lifted like a blanket being pulled in by my sister (the moon) like a fisherman hauling in his latest catch. My sunrise is nearly complete. I finally manage to pull myself up. ...read more.


He is safe for the time being. The quietness of the morning is slowly being eroded by the shouts and conversations of the early visitors to the beach. The human invasion has begun: toddlers, teenagers, adults, senior citizens, buckets, spades and deckchairs. It has only just started but the town has been awaked. It will grow in strength and then slowly fade. The earliest visitors to the beach are the local surfing school, about ten or twelve of them; flowing locks, skin-tight wetsuits, big and butch and ready for action. They finally manage to reach the sea's edge. They eagerly throw down their elongated surfboards and glide off into another world. More and more people are entering the beach, eager to find a good spot for their day out. The children's faces are amazing to watch. From the tiredness of carrying their buckets and spades after a long walk from the nearby car park they are soon turned into amazement and glee taken back by the wonderful sight. They throw their belongings onto the floor and with the tiredness quickly forgotten they head for the blue carpet of the sea, hopping and skipping along the way. The mothers and fathers call them back but the children are oblivious to anything else but where they headed. The once smooth golden expanse of sand is now dotted with brightly coloured buckets, spades and towels. ...read more.


As the evening draws near my light begins to dim. I am slipping lower and lower. The warmth of my colour's; orange, red's, yellow's and gold's begin to merge with the sea; seeping across the surface like a drink spilt across a table. In the distance the gruff shouts of the fisherman draw nearer and nearer. The boats have been hoisted onto the sand and the unloading of the day's catch begins with down-turned faces, muttering between themselves about the bad day's catch. They traipse up the beach scuffing the feat as they go, returning to the warmth of their families with hope for a better catch next time. Now the beach is deserted, all that remains is the debris of another busy day: lost toy's, forgotten belongings and discarded rubbish. There they will remain until the sea washes up the beach, like an army marching, taking it all away. Finally my day is done until tomorrow calls. Finished. The beach is empty. The warmth has gone. The moon has taken over me. The stars popping out of nowhere, lighting up the night's sky. The only sounds I can hear are the waves crashing on the sleeping sand and the biting and the whistling of the wind. I am the one thing in the world that is always constant. I rise early in the morning, lighting everyone's day. At night I give way to the moon, until the following day where I shall rise again. By Alex Thompson ...read more.

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