QUINN
Winter used to be my favorite time at the shore. Ocean City was nearly a ghost town during December, compared to how it was in the middle of summer; the locals were there, but thanks to the biting cold and damp air, most of us stayed indoors unless it was absolutely necessary. I loved having the beach to myself, or just about, when my parents and I would come down before Christmas. The ocean seemed wilder, loud and forbidding, the sand was blown into peaks and valleys, and I often found shells I didn't at other times of the year.
But this year, the creeping gray of each new dawn felt threatening instead of comforting. It seemed that death drew nearer every hour, no matter how much I tried to ignore it. I'd fought against the sense of impending doom by going absolutely crazy with m
