(I wrote this for a class a while back. I think there’s some editing that I can do to fill it out, make more connections. It was based off of a picture, and a wonderful exercise. I should definitely do more of these.)
He was searching for something.
With the metal detector in front of him, he scanned the beach, looking for the bits he knew were out there. How could he know? He hadn’t seen the people unknowingly drop their jewelry, or watched them lose their keys in the sand. But he knew that these items were out there, waiting to be found.
Sometimes, you just know.
He told her not to go out that night. When she asked him why, he said he didn’t know, just that he didn’t want her to go. She laughed him off and told him that he worried too much. She would be back before midnight.
Midnight came and went. He waited up for her, worrying too much. One o’clock and there was still no sign of her. He called her phone but there was no answer. At just after two, he got his answer, but not from her. It came from a police officer.
He had lost her.
The space between the beeping noises that came from the metal detector became shorter. He expertly waved the machine across the sand, the noise becoming more frantic until it ran together into one long beep. He turned it off, knelt down over the sand, rolled away a rock, and found a necklace. Hanging from the necklace was a cross.
He rescued the necklace from the sand and put it in his pocket. He found it. It was no longer lost.
He continued his search.
Pneumosparklyosis 