Some evenings I go down to the beach to look for footprints. They tell so many more tales than watching the people who create them. I see so many heavy prints which I imagine to belong to a muscular man on his way to meet the tiny prints for lunch. Sandals looking for ancient shark teeth, bare feet carrying fishing poles.

Such mystery is stored within these ordinary-looking prints. They whisper, “I was once here.” A temporary record of existence, not unlike other life that came before us. It makes me wonder, what kind of mark do I want to make to represent me?


This story was inspired by Wordy Wednesday. Each week we are given a one word prompt to be used to create a short story of at least 100 words. Today’s prompt was “footprints.”

Image by Deviant Art

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