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The Buchanan family had owned a beach house on South Carolina's Pawleys Island for many years. The youngest son, Phil, had fond childhood memories of sunning on the beach, eating mouth-watering seafood and smelling the salty air. He also remembered the charming, tight-knit community of villagers who called Pawleys home. To Phil, it seemed like one of the few places left where people still kept an eye on one another.
Phil had just turned 40 in October when he decided to return to Pawleys for the first time since his childhood. His high stress job as a newspaperman in Atlanta had slowly worn him down, and was beginning to affect both his health and his relationship with his family. He needed a quiet place like Pawleys to energize himself and reflect on his life.
His co-workers were surprised that Phil "Burn-the-Midnight- Oil" Buchanan was finally taking a vacation. What's more, he had chosen the height of hurricane season to do it. But Phil knew that the tourists would be long gone from Pawleys, and he could achieve the solitude that he so desperately craved. After work Thursday, Phil piled his wife, Susan, and two young daughters in the car and headed toward the island.
Phil was pleased to find his family's picturesque beach house practically untouched since his last visit. The heavy timber walls, gabled roof and around-the-house porch distinguished the old home from the newer resort houses that had sprung up on the South Carolina coast like mushrooms.
The same boardwalk extended from the house onto the beach. Phil remembered walking onto the beach every morning to watch the spectacular Pawleys sunrise. Before dawn the next day, Phil grabbed a cup of coffee, put on some warm clothes and a windbreaker and walked down to the beach to relive the magic.
The sunrise that morning was indeed beautiful - a blazing red orb that set the sky ablaze in colors of orange and pink. But Phil didn't seem to notice, for his thoughts now consumed him. He knew that, although Pawleys remained unchanged, he was strikingly different. Years had passed him by in the blink of an eye. Friends, lovers and family had come and gone. Like many people his age, Phil found himself questioning his place in the world. What would people remember about him when he was gone? He knew that his malaise was beginning to affect his family, especially his wife, who said only recently that he had become a virtual stranger to her.
As Phil continued walking, a cold, grayish mist suddenly blew in from the sea, slowly dampening his mood. He wondered if it was such a good idea to come back here after all - this place of youth and invincibility.
Before he knew it, Phil reached the end of the island. But as he turned back toward home, he began to get the strange feeling that he wasn't alone on the beach.
Phil had just turned 40 in October when he decided to return to Pawleys for the first time since his childhood. His high stress job as a newspaperman in Atlanta had slowly worn him down, and was beginning to affect both his health and his relationship with his family. He needed a quiet place like Pawleys to energize himself and reflect on his life.
His co-workers were surprised that Phil "Burn-the-Midnight- Oil" Buchanan was finally taking a vacation. What's more, he had chosen the height of hurricane season to do it. But Phil knew that the tourists would be long gone from Pawleys, and he could achieve the solitude that he so desperately craved. After work Thursday, Phil piled his wife, Susan, and two young daughters in the car and headed toward the island.
Phil was pleased to find his family's picturesque beach house practically untouched since his last visit. The heavy timber walls, gabled roof and around-the-house porch distinguished the old home from the newer resort houses that had sprung up on the South Carolina coast like mushrooms.
The same boardwalk extended from the house onto the beach. Phil remembered walking onto the beach every morning to watch the spectacular Pawleys sunrise. Before dawn the next day, Phil grabbed a cup of coffee, put on some warm clothes and a windbreaker and walked down to the beach to relive the magic.
The sunrise that morning was indeed beautiful - a blazing red orb that set the sky ablaze in colors of orange and pink. But Phil didn't seem to notice, for his thoughts now consumed him. He knew that, although Pawleys remained unchanged, he was strikingly different. Years had passed him by in the blink of an eye. Friends, lovers and family had come and gone. Like many people his age, Phil found himself questioning his place in the world. What would people remember about him when he was gone? He knew that his malaise was beginning to affect his family, especially his wife, who said only recently that he had become a virtual stranger to her.
As Phil continued walking, a cold, grayish mist suddenly blew in from the sea, slowly dampening his mood. He wondered if it was such a good idea to come back here after all - this place of youth and invincibility.
Before he knew it, Phil reached the end of the island. But as he turned back toward home, he began to get the strange feeling that he wasn't alone on the beach.
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The Buchanan family had owned a beach house on South Carolina's Pawleys Island for many years. The youngest son, Phil, had fond childhood memories of sunning on the beach, eating mouth-watering seafood and smelling the salty air. He also remembered the charming, tight-knit community of villagers who called Pawleys home. To Phil, it seemed like one of the few places left where people still kept an eye on one another.
Phil had just turned 40 in October when he decided to return to Pawleys for the first time since his childhood. His high stress job as a newspaperman in Atlanta had slowly worn him down, and was beginning to affect both his health and his relationship with his family. He needed a quiet place like Pawleys to energize himself and reflect on his life.
His co-workers were surprised that Phil "Burn-the-Midnight- Oil" Buchanan was finally taking a vacation. What's more, he had chosen the height of hurricane season to do it. But Phil knew that the tourists would be long gone from Pawleys, and he could achieve the solitude that he so desperately craved. After work Thursday, Phil piled his wife, Susan, and two young daughters in the car and headed toward the island.
Phil was pleased to find his family's picturesque beach house practically untouched since his last visit. The heavy timber walls, gabled roof and around-the-house porch distinguished the old home from the newer resort houses that had sprung up on the South Carolina coast like mushrooms.
The same boardwalk extended from the house onto the beach. Phil remembered walking onto the beach every morning to watch the spectacular Pawleys sunrise. Before dawn the next day, Phil grabbed a cup of coffee, put on some warm clothes and a windbreaker and walked down to the beach to relive the magic.
The sunrise that morning was indeed beautiful - a blazing red orb that set the sky ablaze in colors of orange and pink. But Phil didn't seem to notice, for his thoughts now consumed him. He knew that, although Pawleys remained unchanged, he was strikingly different. Years had passed him by in the blink of an eye. Friends, lovers and family had come and gone. Like many people his age, Phil found himself questioning his place in the world. What would people remember about him when he was gone? He knew that his malaise was beginning to affect his family, especially his wife, who said only recently that he had become a virtual stranger to her.
As Phil continued walking, a cold, grayish mist suddenly blew in from the sea, slowly dampening his mood. He wondered if it was such a good idea to come back here after all - this place of youth and invincibility.
Before he knew it, Phil reached the end of the island. But as he turned back toward home, he began to get the strange feeling that he wasn't alone on the beach.
Phil had just turned 40 in October when he decided to return to Pawleys for the first time since his childhood. His high stress job as a newspaperman in Atlanta had slowly worn him down, and was beginning to affect both his health and his relationship with his family. He needed a quiet place like Pawleys to energize himself and reflect on his life.
His co-workers were surprised that Phil "Burn-the-Midnight- Oil" Buchanan was finally taking a vacation. What's more, he had chosen the height of hurricane season to do it. But Phil knew that the tourists would be long gone from Pawleys, and he could achieve the solitude that he so desperately craved. After work Thursday, Phil piled his wife, Susan, and two young daughters in the car and headed toward the island.
Phil was pleased to find his family's picturesque beach house practically untouched since his last visit. The heavy timber walls, gabled roof and around-the-house porch distinguished the old home from the newer resort houses that had sprung up on the South Carolina coast like mushrooms.
The same boardwalk extended from the house onto the beach. Phil remembered walking onto the beach every morning to watch the spectacular Pawleys sunrise. Before dawn the next day, Phil grabbed a cup of coffee, put on some warm clothes and a windbreaker and walked down to the beach to relive the magic.
The sunrise that morning was indeed beautiful - a blazing red orb that set the sky ablaze in colors of orange and pink. But Phil didn't seem to notice, for his thoughts now consumed him. He knew that, although Pawleys remained unchanged, he was strikingly different. Years had passed him by in the blink of an eye. Friends, lovers and family had come and gone. Like many people his age, Phil found himself questioning his place in the world. What would people remember about him when he was gone? He knew that his malaise was beginning to affect his family, especially his wife, who said only recently that he had become a virtual stranger to her.
As Phil continued walking, a cold, grayish mist suddenly blew in from the sea, slowly dampening his mood. He wondered if it was such a good idea to come back here after all - this place of youth and invincibility.
Before he knew it, Phil reached the end of the island. But as he turned back toward home, he began to get the strange feeling that he wasn't alone on the beach.
suprisingly good, some one needs to run it through the Copier machine to see if you actually wrote it.
KR wrote:
> suprisingly good, some one needs to run it through the Copier machine
> to see if you actually wrote it.
Ill second that
> suprisingly good, some one needs to run it through the Copier machine
> to see if you actually wrote it.
Ill second that
http://www.themoonlitroad.com/grayman/grayman_page001.asp
to be fair, he didn't claim to have written it though ...
Memorandum wrote:
> http://www.themoonlitroad.com/grayman/grayman_page001.asp
Wow that was quick!!!
> http://www.themoonlitroad.com/grayman/grayman_page001.asp
Wow that was quick!!!
Are you turning into @ngel??
tigamilla wrote:
> Are you turning into @ngel??
that was for Borat...:)
> Are you turning into @ngel??
that was for Borat...:)
tigamilla wrote:
> that was for Borat...:)
nope
> that was for Borat...:)
nope
SilverMerc (Richkid18) wrote:
> The Buchanan family had owned a beach house on South Carolina's
> Pawleys Island for many years. The youngest son, Phil, had fond
> childhood memories of sunning on the beach, eating mouth-watering
> seafood and smelling the salty air. He also remembered the charming,
> tight-knit community of villagers who called Pawleys home. To Phil, it
> seemed like one of the few places left where people still kept an eye
> on one another.
>
>
>
> Phil had just turned 40 in October when he decided to return to
> Pawleys for the first time since his childhood. His high stress job as
> a newspaperman in Atlanta had slowly worn him down, and was beginning
> to affect both his health and his relationship with his family. He
> needed a quiet place like Pawleys to energize himself and reflect on
> his life.
>
> His co-workers were surprised that Phil "Burn-the-Midnight-
> Oil" Buchanan was finally taking a vacation. What's more, he had
> chosen the height of hurricane season to do it. But Phil knew that the
> tourists would be long gone from Pawleys, and he could achieve the
> solitude that he so desperately craved. After work Thursday, Phil
> piled his wife, Susan, and two young daughters in the car and headed
> toward the island.
>
> Phil was pleased to find his family's picturesque beach house
> practically untouched since his last visit. The heavy timber walls,
> gabled roof and around-the-house porch distinguished the old home from
> the newer resort houses that had sprung up on the South Carolina coast
> like mushrooms.
>
> The same boardwalk extended from the house onto the beach. Phil
> remembered walking onto the beach every morning to watch the
> spectacular Pawleys sunrise. Before dawn the next day, Phil grabbed a
> cup of coffee, put on some warm clothes and a windbreaker and walked
> down to the beach to relive the magic.
>
> The sunrise that morning was indeed beautiful - a blazing red orb that
> set the sky ablaze in colors of orange and pink. But Phil didn't seem
> to notice, for his thoughts now consumed him. He knew that, although
> Pawleys remained unchanged, he was strikingly different. Years had
> passed him by in the blink of an eye. Friends, lovers and family had
> come and gone. Like many people his age, Phil found himself
> questioning his place in the world. What would people remember about
> him when he was gone? He knew that his malaise was beginning to affect
> his family, especially his wife, who said only recently that he had
> become a virtual stranger to her.
>
> As Phil continued walking, a cold, grayish mist suddenly blew in from
> the sea, slowly dampening his mood. He wondered if it was such a good
> idea to come back here after all - this place of youth and
> invincibility.
>
> Before he knew it, Phil reached the end of the island. But as he
> turned back toward home, he began to get the strange feeling that he
> wasn't alone on the beach.
Alright story, I suppose it would be if it was writen by a pro
> The Buchanan family had owned a beach house on South Carolina's
> Pawleys Island for many years. The youngest son, Phil, had fond
> childhood memories of sunning on the beach, eating mouth-watering
> seafood and smelling the salty air. He also remembered the charming,
> tight-knit community of villagers who called Pawleys home. To Phil, it
> seemed like one of the few places left where people still kept an eye
> on one another.
>
>
>
> Phil had just turned 40 in October when he decided to return to
> Pawleys for the first time since his childhood. His high stress job as
> a newspaperman in Atlanta had slowly worn him down, and was beginning
> to affect both his health and his relationship with his family. He
> needed a quiet place like Pawleys to energize himself and reflect on
> his life.
>
> His co-workers were surprised that Phil "Burn-the-Midnight-
> Oil" Buchanan was finally taking a vacation. What's more, he had
> chosen the height of hurricane season to do it. But Phil knew that the
> tourists would be long gone from Pawleys, and he could achieve the
> solitude that he so desperately craved. After work Thursday, Phil
> piled his wife, Susan, and two young daughters in the car and headed
> toward the island.
>
> Phil was pleased to find his family's picturesque beach house
> practically untouched since his last visit. The heavy timber walls,
> gabled roof and around-the-house porch distinguished the old home from
> the newer resort houses that had sprung up on the South Carolina coast
> like mushrooms.
>
> The same boardwalk extended from the house onto the beach. Phil
> remembered walking onto the beach every morning to watch the
> spectacular Pawleys sunrise. Before dawn the next day, Phil grabbed a
> cup of coffee, put on some warm clothes and a windbreaker and walked
> down to the beach to relive the magic.
>
> The sunrise that morning was indeed beautiful - a blazing red orb that
> set the sky ablaze in colors of orange and pink. But Phil didn't seem
> to notice, for his thoughts now consumed him. He knew that, although
> Pawleys remained unchanged, he was strikingly different. Years had
> passed him by in the blink of an eye. Friends, lovers and family had
> come and gone. Like many people his age, Phil found himself
> questioning his place in the world. What would people remember about
> him when he was gone? He knew that his malaise was beginning to affect
> his family, especially his wife, who said only recently that he had
> become a virtual stranger to her.
>
> As Phil continued walking, a cold, grayish mist suddenly blew in from
> the sea, slowly dampening his mood. He wondered if it was such a good
> idea to come back here after all - this place of youth and
> invincibility.
>
> Before he knew it, Phil reached the end of the island. But as he
> turned back toward home, he began to get the strange feeling that he
> wasn't alone on the beach.
Alright story, I suppose it would be if it was writen by a pro
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