On the Seacoast by Maria Ignatieva

Once upon a time there was a woman
whose husband was a writer and he wrote a story of her life. A story of a pretty little girl from a pretty little town on the seacoast, with eyes as black as the ocean and skin as white as the sand. A pretty little story of windy beaches and rocky cliffs, and of a girl wandering around, watching beautiful black waves with her beautiful black eyes, dripping shiny pearl-like tears unto the white silky sand.
“What is my purpose?” the girl asked desperately, reaching towards the ocean with her thin hands. “How long do I have to live in this poisonous bliss, in this peaceful vacuum of my hometown, not knowing what I am and what I am here for?”
This was her cry, bitter and futile, until one day it reached the ears of a young man, an incomer from the city. His hands were soft as the waves and his heart was big as a whale. He ran along the shore and stood before the weeping girl.
The sight of the stranger felt as an arrow to her heart. Driven with a mysterious yet overwhelming emotion, she threw herself into the arms of the man, and she never left, and she never wept again, having devoted herself to him selflessly and eternally.
Once upon a time there was a woman whose husband wrote a story of her life, and laid it proudly onto the desk in front of her. She started reading, first with a smile, then – with loud, uncontrollable laughter. She laughed and laughed, until she was out of breath and couldn’t even explain herself to her husband.
“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” she said.
The next day, she was gone.
***
Once upon a time there was a pretty little girl in a pretty little town on the seacoast. She was perfectly aware of how pretty and how little she was. Being brought up in a typical village household, within a tightly-knit community of her parents, her friends, her parents’ friends and her friends’ parents, she knew exactly how her life was supposed to unfold.
School, highschool, college, and after that, if she was unlucky enough to not be married by then, the university in the nearby town. Not far, though. No need for a pretty little girl to be far from home. And after the university, she knew, she would be back here, ready for another round of husband-seeking and down-settling.
But the college was over, and the university was over, and there she was again, alone on the windy beach. Her parents and friends weren’t as sure about her future wellbeing as they used to be. Maybe the nearby town was too far. She’s different now. She’s got those ideas now that are not appropriate for a pretty little girl like her.
She knew that, too. She was a pretty smart girl. Deep inside, she knew that it was time to leave. And to leave she was ready – just not sure about the plan.
Once upon a time, a pretty little girl met a pretty tall man on the seacoast. He was a foreigner. Everything about him screamed “city”. He was looking at her with puppy eyes, his cheeks blushing.
“Well,” the girl thought. “That does look quite like a plan.”