The Sound of Water

He could hear several things from his supine position on the sand. There was the cry of gulls, the sloshing of the ocean water. He couldn't actually see the whole waves, but he could see their crests from his vantage point.

He was tied to the ground, his head only able to lift up mere inches from the ground. Rope and stakes driven deep in the sand secured his neck, wrists, waist, and ankles. He wondered if anyone would find him in time. It would not be low tide for much longer. The sky grew dark and his voice was hoarse from calling out for help.

He imagined how it would happen, the water slowly creeping toward him, advancing and retreating inches at a time. What he dreaded was the time it would take. The water would wash to his feet first, then his thighs, back, and eventually, this head. And the water would eventually swell over his head, but it would wash back after seconds of suffocation, only to give him hope--a breath of air--before the natural ebb and flow would overtake him again. With time, the water would engulf him and he would not resurface until the next low tide.

From where he lay, he could no longer see the water's encroachment. It was two hours ago when the shoreline disappeared past the tips of his toes. Not being able to raise his head up any further, there was no telling where it was now, save for the increasing volume of the surf.

His only hope was someone would find him soon. Then he felt a new sensation, the curious and cool caress of the ocean at his toes.