He ambled and limped through the narrow passage leading to the long stretch of white beach and disturbed sea. It was dusk and the light quickly faded, and the sand felt cool and soft beneath his feet. The tall grass waved in the hills of sand as he limped past. His right foot slid down the sides of the small white bumps as he tried to balance without aggravating the injury in his left foot. He was Henri Le Rennet, a French expatriate of 6 feet with a handsome, defined jawline, hawk-like eyes, and a hard, stern face that winced at every step. He walked with a rough hand in his pocket and broad shoulders slightly shrugged. The wind picked up slightly as his distraught body wandered aimlessly to the water.
Across four Aprils the violent rebellion dispelled his primitive nature. An incessant commotion occupied his mind. Distant gunshots and faint cries of dying men echoed in his head like the curious noises that frighten children in the night. As he reached the water he looked up from his wet, sand-covered bottoms and felt the cool ocean breeze brush his long, disheveled black hair across his right cheek. The water greeted him as the moist air kissed his neck like a lover welcoming him home from the long war.
As his narrow olive green eyes adjusted to the vast sea that lay flat in front of him, a blanket of waving shadows welcomed him. Man often takes solace in the comfort of the ocean. The ocean greeted him; the calmness slowly melted away his frozen vitality, setting free his visceral being that wandered in hopeless abeyance.
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