CTS Writes

Heaven is a beach in North Devon

by Claire Travers Smith

The last time Helen would take her son to Woolacombe Beach, not another soul was there. It was entirely theirs. Immune to the chill, they built sandcastles for hours, wind whipping his salt-stuck curls, stinging her eyes. The setting sun dipped the beach in gold. Hungry white horses devoured the fortress walls which crumbled like her lungs into nothing. The boy started to sob.

“Don’t cry, my love,” she smiled. “Look around you. We are surrounded by sandcastles. They will always be here for you.”

He nodded and held his mum’s hand tightly as they walked back to the car.