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Sand · 2005-09-06


by Mike

          “Timmy! Stop that! What do you think you’re doing?” his dad yelled. Timmy stopped mid-chew, realizing he had been caught. Sand trickled from the corner of his mouth. A small plastic shovel dangled from his right hand spilling its contents back to whence they had come. His cap was pushed back a little bit, and some of his bangs sprouted over his forehead. He had no sunglasses, so he had to squint a little, and cover his eyes with his left hand, to see his dad.
          Timmy’s dad came tromping over the dune, flip flops kicking up sand with every step, sun hat flapping excitedly around his ears, frisbee in hand, sun glinting off his sunglasses.
          “Get that out of your mouth.” Timmy spat a big clump of sand back to its home. His father was standing in front of him now, hands on his hips. “I thought I had taught you well, brought you up right, and here I find you doing this.”
          Timmy looked down. He knew he had done wrong, but he just couldn’t help it. It tasted so good. And what was the harm, really. It was just a little sand.
          “Now, son, we’ve been over this before. Beach sand is not for eating. It’s not good for you. You know that, don’t you?” Timmy nodded. “It’s got a lousy texture, no nutritional value, and is also probably toxic. Now if you want, we’ve got some good, fine, nutrient rich desert sand at home. You want that?” Timmy nodded again, then took his father’s hand as they walked back towards the car, trudging over dune after dune of delicious looking treats.

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