"The Sandcastle" - short story

Black flags lined the shore, but we had no intention of going into the sea. Instead, we had plans to build a sandcastle, the biggest sandcastle on the Tel Aviv beach.

"Bring me more water," three-year-old Noa commanded me. "And then shells, more shells."

I picked up the orange bucket and went into the surf. As I bent over, I kept my eyes on my granddaughter, making sure she remained in the safety of the shaded area near the plastic beach chairs I'd rented. I stood up, adjusted my cap, and made my way back to her.

"Look, a tower!"

"Let's make it even bigger," I said, dropping to my knees on the cool sand.

"And show it to Imma!"

"We'll show it to Imma," I said, even though this was a promise I couldn't keep.

"Saba, does Imma like the beach?"

"Of course, she likes the beach."

"Then why didn't she come with us?"

"Because she's in the hospital, Noa. You know that."

Read the rest of the story on - The Loft Issue V, page 28 (download the PDF for free). Photo by Diana Parkhouse on Unsplash.