Christine A.

Thalassophobia

The graveyard stretched out along the ocean as far as his eyes could see. He viewed the washed-out words and whispering waves while wandering a few more steps on the withered grass. Tickly, grippy grass massaged the bottoms of his little sneakers and itchy crunchy sand clung in between the grooves in the sole. In his hand, he grasped a dull yellow pointless shovel. He paused before jamming it into the ground next to a tombstone of grey rock. The shovel tipped over next to the sunken grave after he let go.