Walking On
The black volcanic sand glistened in the morning light. A billion, billion minute, silica fragments reflected the rays of a February sun. The once jagged, ancient, larval teeth had been reduced to grains by the ever present wind and the occasional rain. Waves had kneaded the brittle shards into dark, abrasive sand. Rock rubbing on rock, stone on stone reducing, diminishing, fragmenting.
The sand rarely blew beyond the boardwalk. The town was aching, grinding, churning beneath the footfall of ten thousand sandalled feet. An aimless ebb and flow of; tanned legs, paunched bellies, varicosed legs and glowing skin moved slowly in the heat. The glistening crytals stuck tenaciously to shoulders, backs and legs. A parade of daleks travelling east and west hummed to the throb of their electric motors. The shopping baskets that were clipped on handlebars, contained cheap, ephemera bought from garish outlets. They rattled unharmoniously.
The first time he had come here it was different. The buildings smaller, the streets emptier, the beach quieter. The banana plantations were once open to the air not boxed, coffin like, in enormous, cardboard brown, protective cages. The white, looming, timeshare apartments had now reached the foot of the cliffs and there was no more room to build upwards to achieve the 'magnificent sea views' so highly prized by sun seekers and more highly prized by developers but the sound of diggers and mixers still throbbed and churned forever, filling in the few remaining spaces. He walked on.
The smells of fast food, cheap perfume and expensive sun tan lotion pervaded the air. They competed with, and overpowered, the fragrance of blossoms planted sparsely along the promenade. They were a weak gesture towards beautifying the town from a city council who had long surrendered the notion of enhancing the looks of the place. Commerce and profit, cash and kind were the waves that crashed hardest on this shore. Fake watches, leather bracelets, scarves, towels, toys all hawked by stangers. Colourful costumes and dark faces from distant lands. Some smiling, some limping, some resigned to disappointment. Voices hoarse from a day's pitching. Traders in tat. He sighed. His rhuemy eyes watered in the wind and he walked on.
Broken shells of buildings scarred the front. No money to demolish them and clear the view. Danger signs plastered across sealed doors that lead to nowhere. Ghosts of buildings slowly deteriorating as the tides came and went. They shielded the view of the sea from the customers of the cheap cafes. Full English breakfast for three euros. How much do they pay their staff? He looked at the faded photographs of sea food and steaks and wondered why anyone would be attracted to eat, having seen these images but there they were cramming mouthfuls of omelette and potato in such haste. It was, he thought, unpleasant. He walked on.
His legs aching and his mood low, he turned back to the beach. He sat down slowly, carefully using his stick for support as his leathered hands slipped down the cane. He came to rest with a slight bump on the hot, black sand. He waited, sighed and took a deep breath. He removed his grubby linen cap and set it on the ground beside him. He rolled over and placed his cheek on the crown of his cap and closed his eyes. Before he drifted off, before his body sank into the earth and his muscles ceased supporting him, he glanced at the grains of sand so close to his face. Miniscule flashes of light came and went as he moved his eyes to catch their reflections. He was in the far reaches of the galaxy. Time an illusion. The waves crashed in the distance and he slept.
