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He sits there, relishing the feel of the soft sand on his skin, the feel of it in between his toes. It has been a long time since he has had the chance to do something like this. He�s dressed in a simple pair of shorts and a shirt, nothing expensive on, everything cheap and simple. It�s the simplicity he misses. His knees are placed in front of him, his slippers somewhere beside him, though he isn't sure where. It�s around.. somewhere. He likes it, the feel of the sand, of the grass in contact with his skin, with his clothes. He likes the feel of it all, the freedom. The crashing of the waves against the rocks is comforting, the sound pleasing to his ears, just like everything surrounding him. The murky greenish water is soothing, and though it isn't the clear blue- green waters everyone loves, to him it is perfect. Different. There is just something about the water that makes him love it, maybe the fact that it isn't clear, that you can�t see through it, that is isn't as simple as the clear blue green water which are just so boring, which hold no mystery. He doesn�t know. But whatever it is about it, it appeals to him and he cannot ask for more than that. The soft sea-breeze blows, whipping some of his hair in his face. He doesn�t mind. Actually, it feels good. Natural. Relaxing. The wind carries the smell of the salty seawater, a smell he once used to hate but now enjoys. It brings peaceful pictures, images to mind, adding to the atmosphere to the place. Birds chirp above him. He looks up. He looks up it, the fiery orangey- red sky, watching the colours, how they blend, how they mix to make a sight so delightful to his eyes. he could stare at it forever. It seems so vast, so big, so endless. The birds catch his attention once again. They are flying up there, so small in the boundless horizon, looking almost insignificant. But they�re not. He knows. They may be small, but insignificant they are not. Yes, there are many of them in the sky, in skies all over the world, but every one of them is special. Every one of them count. Every one of them are free. They can fly up there, in the sky, they can circle for days, fly anywhere they want, any time they want. They have something he wants so much. Freedom. A shriek of childish laughter makes him look in front of him, in his surroundings once again. The sand is filled with holes, with many creatures, with toys. Pails, shovels, watering cans, anything you can play with at the beach, is there. a number of sandcastles are on the ground, some big, some small. Some finished, some not. Some perfect, some ruined. Everything. He scans the beach for the children who made them. He finds them not too far away from him. A group of kids, five of them, are busy digging holes leading to the water, some using shovels, some using their hands, some using cans. He smiles. One of them stands up, flicking sand all over the place. All over one of the other kids. The kid screams. He starts throwing sand at the kid who flicked sand on him, a girl. She frowns for a minute. She retaliates. They scream and shriek, but still have fun. The other kids join in. finally they decide to make the girl who started this whole thing, the loser of the �game� and make the hole bigger. Big enough to put her in. and they do, or at least, try to. The hole only covers her feet. He smiles. He looks around him. Some teenagers are talking quietly, laughing. He envies them. He looks around some more, watching. There is an old couple sifting on a bench nearby, side by side, just watching the sunset. He envies them. The sky begins to rumble. The sun is almost gone, darkness descending, taking its place. It falls quickly, nightfall approaching. The kids look up. The rain is coming. The teenagers look up. The rain is coming. The couple looks up. It�s going to rain. A mother shouts for the kids. They stop, looking for her. She comes, calling them to go home. It�s almost seven, time for dinner. They collect their stuff, their toys, their cans, their shovels, their pails, their watering cans. They leave. The teenagers decide they had had enough. They get up, still involved in quiet conversation. They leave. Raindrops fall. The couple looks up, then the old man gets up. He reaches for the old lady�s hand. She takes it, getting up. They walk hand in hand down the narrow winding path, slowly disappearing from his view. They leave. He hears a howl. He looks around. There�s a dog. He watches it. It watches him. They watch one another. It howls again. The rain is growing heavier, raindrops bigger. The dog leaves. He�s alone. The rain comes, this time in steady, big drops. He watches the place. The sandcastles disappear. They are all ruined. No one is around him. not a trace of anyone or anything that was here before. His clothes are soaked through. It sticks to him like a second skin. He doesn�t mind. He watches as the waves crash, harder this time, with more force than before. It�s loud. He doesn�t mind. Finally he gets up. He looks for his slippers. He finds them somewhere further away from him than he remembered. He doesn�t mind. He walks, walks down that long winding narrow pathway, his head tucked, his feet dragging. The rain hits him hard, the wind sweeps. it makes hurts. It makes him cold. But nothing else feels colder than what he feels. He�s all alone. His heart hurts. No one is around him. everyone is gone. Loneliness descends, faster than the night descending. No one is around him. He minds. He hates it. He does mind. ��� |