How to Build an Empire
By Luba Burtyk
First you pick the spot. Close to the water, but not too close. Then get a lot of wet sand. A lot, a lot of sand to build thick, smooth walls. And while you’re building thick, smooth walls people will come and ask you, “Is that a mermaid? Is that a dolphin?” And you tell them, well it could be, but then you show them the channels and levees down to the sea, and show them where the turrets and watch towers will rise.
Sooner or later someone named Matt or Tom will say, “I’m going to make me one of those.” It won’t matter because even though there’s enough sand for you and him, he doesn’t have the spot. And besides, you’ve got a head start. You already have thick walls and you’ll be starting on turrets and watchtowers while he’s still collecting sand that’s wet but not too wet. And he doesn’t know about the right consistency of the sand, how it should feel in his fingers, or how it should be laid in a curve like the tail of a mermaid or even a dolphin. And while Matt is asking Bob to help him figure out the sand and start the wall, you’re building towers and turrets. You’ve got windows looking out at the sea when Matt is still struggling to keep his wall from crumbling.
By the time he’s got it right, you’ve got a crowd around you. They all want to help and they bring you beautiful pink sand without you having to ask because they want their sand to be a part of the towers and turrets and cities that rise under your hand.
And your children come out of the water, abandon their boogie boards so they can connect their thick strong walls to yours. And now the walls curve and curve like arms in every direction.
Which is when a boy, a mean boy whose name is Bruce or maybe Albert comes along and threatens to stomp your walls down with his flat, bare foot.
You just have to look at him in your stern “I’m disappointed in you” sort of way for him to waver. And everyone who’s been watching stands up ready to push him away him along with his ugly flat fungal foot.
By nightfall, the walls are reinforced and inlaid with scallop shells. Flags of kelp and seaweed fly over the turrets. An army of sea horses and sea stars basks in the pool deep inside the walls. And your children and their friends continue to make sure that the walls remain thick and strong and unbreakable. Random strangers come with shells or kelp or stone to embellish your construction. Willies and Billies and Angelinas shore up the walls, dredge the channels, hover to guard against intruders.
But by morning the tide has shifted and all that remains are mermaid toenails glistening in the sand. And that’s alright too because sand littered with mermaid toenails is where you started.
Luba Burtyk earned a MFA degree from Brooklyn College during Michael Cunningham’s tenure as Director of the Writing Program. She has completed two novels, “Solstice” and “Spontaneous Combustion.” Her short story collection, “Losing It,” was a “Bellingham Review Tobias Wolff Award” finalist and “St. Lawrence Book Award” semi-finalist. “100% Pure,” a story recently published in “Cool Beans” is a 2025 Best of the Net Nominee. Other stories have been finalists in literary contests including “Mississippi Review” and “Glimmer Train.” A lifelong city dweller, Luba is never happier than at ocean’s edge watching waves roll in, and out, and in again.
JD Baez is a visual artist from Brooklyn whose work embodies the dualities of passion and resilience while connecting us all through the absence of words and noise. Married five years ago, JD adopted his wife’s four children, and together, they now have six kids. JD’s art is deeply influenced by his life experiences, from the early challenges he faced to his journey and dedication as a husband and father. His work has become a powerful narrative of shared human experiences, often focused on themes of family, love, and the perseverance in humanity, drawing viewers into narratives that reflect our collective lives. With a commitment to authenticity, he invites audiences to see beyond the canvas, connecting through emotions that feel as familiar as their own.