Does the ocean know I killed it off?

Myrtle Beach on the night of Sunday, May 27, 2018. (Photo by Emily Weaver)

The sea looked sullen to me when I left Myrtle Beach in January. Its waves rose and fell a little slower than normal, under a veil of heavy fog that hid its beauty. It was a perfect reflection of me in that moment as I added a salty tear to its expanse and drove away a little slower, in a fog.

The first time I stepped back on its shore was on Sunday.

The sea looked angry.

Its waves punched the sky and body-slammed the surf with a force and a purpose as it advanced up the sand to my feet. It was probably because of Subtropical Storm #Alberto, or the time of year and day, or the pull of the moon or...

I couldn’t help but wonder, does the ocean know I killed it off in my novel?

Revelation 16:3 tells us, “The second angel poured out his bowl on the sea, and it turned into blood like that of a dead person, and every living thing in the sea died” (NIV).

I had to put that in my story. I’m writing about the end times.

“I had no choice,” I whispered to my old friend as its waves smacked the pillars of a pier nearby. The sea is pretty when it’s calm, but it's fiercely beautiful when it’s angry.

(I’ll give it a better role in a later book.)

The ocean has looked different to me at different times in my life.

When I was a young girl, on vacation, it looked like a giant, wet friend to play with. The ocean hid treasure for me to find. It soaked the sand for the best castle building. It gave me waves to ride on and a surf to bob in from the safety of my parents’ arms. It gave me pools to splash in and it splashed me back every time I wasn’t looking.

As a teenager and a young adult, the ocean looked like freedom, tempting me with waves, currents and winds to take me to new lands I’d never seen. I would dream of those destinations as I watched ships pass in the distance.

In my late 20’s and early 30’s, the beach looked like comfort and rest, a friend I could lean on to catch my breath from the daily grind, a friend who still tempted me with thoughts of escape and the thrill of adventure.

On Sunday night, it looked like inspiration, giving me a glimpse at what it should act like in my story when it’s condemned to die. It won’t go quietly. It should never go quietly. I’ll revamp that part in honor of my old friend, the fierce and mighty ocean.

Myrtle Beach in January 2018. (Photo by Emily Weaver)

Update: I am more than two-thirds of the way through the word-limit goal I have set for my first novel. The finish line is in sight! Check back with me each week as I keep you updated on my progress or follow me on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. #amwriting #Apocalypse #fiction #Book