Blanche walked barefoot on the beach one last time before heading back to the city. Her quaint coastal hometown held a lot of fond memories, especially involving the beach.

“Don’t forget to make an offering to the sea,” her grandfather had said as she was hugging her grandmother goodbye that morning in front of the squat house that the pair had owned since the year they married.

Blanche loathed the beach now. Hated saltwater. The sounds, the scents. Every last blob of sea foam could melt and all the bratty seagulls could go die. She only visited the beach to speak to her sisters and parents—she preferred it to visiting the cemetery—since the sea was where they had lost their lives.

Blanche stopped to cast one final glance out at the water. The hour-long stroll had been long enough to say everything she wanted to say to them, for now.

“I don’t owe the sea any offerings,” she muttered as a calmness swept over her. “There’s nothing left to give anyway. It already took everything.”

She picked up a smooth stone and, with a softball pitcher’s arm, chucked it out over the waves with all her strength. Turning, she headed toward the public parking area.

The smooth stone shot back out of the sea like a bullet and pegged the back of her lower leg with an audible smack.

Blanche yelped, hopping on one foot, before kneeling to inspect her stinging calf. A welt had already appeared. It was going to bruise. Badly.

Clenching her teeth, she screamed at the sea, “I HATE YOU!”

A shrill howl blew in from beyond the crashing waves which only succeeded in making Blanche even more livid.