Beached Bums

She emerged from the waves, dazzling like Bo Derek in 10. Two long tendrils instead of braids. This young woman fell into the category of modern. Postmodern, even, or whatever comes after that. Streaks of neon green and highlighter orange caressed her coiffe, accented by shiny trinkets and beads. Her body a radiant tan, with her full sleeve of tattoos still highly visible. Skin hydrated by the ocean resembled stretched canvas waiting for an artist to come along and finish the masterpiece. Her slender waist became emphasized by the seductive curves of her front and back.

He already washed ashore, like a beached whale. The baldness of his head showed a vague ring of a five o’clock shadow mimicking a spiracle needing water like a Japanese kappa. His refinement emitted a strong aura, enough to pull the tide in like the moon. A lifeforce equivalent to a perfectly held energy field of a top-notch shinobi. His body waxed smooth of fine polished leather that bulged around the middle from use, age and contentment. He not only shared the fate of a beached whale but also the appearance: tight, glistening skin holding a blubbery body intact with a blow hole.

Nestled amongst the sand, only the coming and going of low and high tide marked time. His wedged body became a sun dial for the locals. The main thought occupying his mind was, “where is my other half?” Waiting. Hoping. Longing. So long he lost track of almost all. Perhaps it was due to his old age.

The only thing to rupture this pattern of thought proved to be crimson crabs picking at him, turquoise tides engulfing him or corpulent jellyfish seeping in and around him. That was until the day she surfaced out of the water, stunning like Halle Berry in James Bond: Die Another Day. Fluorescent, young and tantalizing melanin.

“Land, land, land. I can finally see land!” She could only process not being dragged along the ocean’s whim anymore. How long since she was separated from the others? It was a girl’s outing turned final inning. Horror of horrors, her bestie was nowhere to be found. If only she could see her other half again, all would be well, even if they experienced the depths of the ocean for all eternity. She just didn’t want to do or be anything alone.

His leathery body stiffened with anticipation of when the waves would finally deliver goodness to him. She was on a direct course to his island. Direct course. Direct course. His excitement waned for a moment as he remembered those being some of the last words he heard before separation from his other half and luxurious outing.

Time became one big pregnant pause the closer she got to shore. The moment she caught the sight of a familiar shape, everything morphed into soporific slowness. She even tried adjusting her tendrils and tongue to act as rudders to ensure landing as close to that shape as possible.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1.75, 1.5, 1.25, 1…. contact! He prayed for two extra pushes from the ocean to get her right next to him. He must have had favor, because she ended up close enough for him to speak without shouting.

“So, what’s a gal like you doing at a place like this?” He always wanted to say this line to a woman, especially a young, hot one. Out here on a remote island for so long built up his confidence. Or maybe just delirium.

Either way, she chuckled, “Such a corny line is just what the doctor ordered after a life-threatening ordeal.”

Separated from their past realities and original pairings, they arrived as part of a whole at the same shore. Her a lefty. Him a righty. Here, they became an unlikely duo. Such different owners, styles and origins, but the same ending. If they ever got rescued, no one could make use of them together. But right here, right now, they are a perfect mismatched pair.

Bonus: Can you guess what kind of shoe each one is? Leave your answer(s) below in the comments.

Arigato gozaimasu (Thank you very much) for reading!