A Short Walk On a Long Beach

The darkness surrendered to the grey dawn, the reflected, half-eaten light finding a foothold on the bedside window, gripping the walls and floor with greatening influence. The visual spectrum was constricted and allowed only the existence of shapes and gradients of black and white.
Beer cans littered the floor like enigmatic depth charges. Sheets of paper formed the ocean, while pizza crusts and candy wrappers stood atop the quiet seas. An empty salsa jar posed as a lighthouse, warning of the castle of horrors in the corner. A hollow chip bag had acted as a temporary trash bin, but that was long ago. The sickness had spread beyond its borders, toppling out and surrounding it until it was just a member of the plague. A jumbled heap of clothes sat in another corner. Smells of old sweat, dirt, and other ripe mysteries swirled about. The ocean of madness circumscribed the bed, waiting for Poseidon to awaken.
Gradually, the grey morning gave way to a yellow aura, as well as a bright rhombus of light which spread across the concealed lump on the bed. Endless dust particles floated above, only coming alive in the bent square of sunshine. The curtain rod hung over the top of the window uselessly, missing what made it whole.
A sharp noise cut through the silence. The lump of blankets shifted and rose up, revealing a tired man. He quickly searched through the sheets for his bedside companion. He flicked the alarm off, then sat in the queen size bed, reminiscing on his dream.
It placed him on the beach outside the city. The sun was hot, the sky hazy. Sand filled up through his toes with a caressing warmth. A gust of wind battered him with sea spray; It was mildly refreshing. He walked along the coast, keeping his feet dry and sandy.
The beach was packed with familiar faces. The heat was vicious, so most of them lay on towels or under umbrellas; the rest braved the heat, digging holes or making castles. There were some who strayed quietly though the ocean but, despite the burning sun, the cool grip of the sea was largely ignored.
His mind suddenly flickered to the last moment.
The shore was empty. The waves were quiet. The seaside architecture and pitfalls were forgotten, left for the tide to devour. The sun glowed orange and dropped behind a distant cityscape.
Her arms reached out for him.
The rhombus of light stretched out into a parallelogram to touch his gaze. He rubbed his eyes and stood up. There was a beer bottle still in his hand from last night which was haphazardly tossed into the plague. It shifted like a coiling snake upon the bottle’s impact, absorbing the guilty escape with delight. Tendrils of waste reached out to envelop the solitary salsa jar.
The paper ocean swayed as their Poseidon passed by. The tower of questionable smells was rifled through briskly. Musty dress slacks and a wrinkled button up shirt were selected from the pile. He swiftly changed into them, then left. The paper rustled on the floor. The false ocean parted and settled, revealing a hardwood floor underneath. The stain had been worn off into a path around the bed where he walked every day. A second path was worn on the other side of the bed but only slightly, as if it were just a memory.
He left the apartment complex and walked down the street on a sidewalk paved with ancient gum.
The streets were dark mostly, the sun unable to cast light over buildings that touched the sky. Cars clogged the one way arteries at the heart of the city. He walked faster than they could creep forward, and watched them with both empathy and envy. He turned the corner and headed past a small bakery only in business because of their loyal customers; a bagel and a pizza strip was his routine, but not today. He strolled by, glancing into the shop. A tall, thin Indian, and a short, middle-aged lady with red hair worked behind the counter. A teenage girl with sleek blonde hair was ordering a coffee. The only other customer sat in the corner with a soda and a notebook, hazel eyes staring somewhere in thought.
The building disappeared behind him as he turned down an alley. The route to work was etched in his mind. A homeless man waved to him, sitting with his back to a green dumpster. The gap between the two closed and a perfect storm of piss and garbage collided in his nostrils. Dirty hands reached outwards, a smile of gratitude buried underneath the tangled mess of a beard.
He walked by while staring at his feet, unable to pay his daily tribute to the dumpster man. Money was sparse. Tomorrow he would take a different way to work.
The city park was a refreshing shortcut: Tall buildings and grid-like traffic patterns overwhelmed the senses and felt claustrophobic. Yet here there were trees and well maintained grass. It was completely out of place.
He followed the curved path, nodding to the people he recognized; the old man with bony hands, winter white hair, and glasses; a lady jogging whom he saw only once before; and a bald child. A mother sat on a bench, silently crying as she watched her hairless daughter feed bread to the pigeons. He normally nodded to her as well, his way of saying “Good morning.”, but only on the good days when he was greeted by a smile. He walked on. She didn't notice.
That was it. The park was swept from under his feet, and the claustrophobia of the city returned. People worked through a maze of themselves along the sidewalk. He was one of them, forcing his way through the turmoil. A sea of faces that his mind would remember, albeit in a fleeting way. After several minutes, the crowd thinned out. On his right was an abandoned construction site. The half-built structure was fenced in, patiently waiting for the contract dispute to resolve. His hand dragged along the fencing, enjoying the unique feeling. The engagement ring clashed with the chain links, producing a quick succession of pings.
The metal barrier ceased abruptly and he reached a street corner. He crossed the street.
“No!” A female voice screamed.
Turning to see what was happening, he saw it. A city bus barreled towards him with no hope of stopping in time.
He had a momentary, passing chance to escape death.

The sun was hot, the sky hazy. Sand filled up through his toes with a caressing warmth. A gust of wind battered him with sea spray; It was mildly refreshing.
He walked along the coast, letting the coming tide wash over his feet. The cool grip of the sea beckoned to him.
The beach was packed. There was no better day to go to the beach. Children ran up and down the shoreline, their small feet kicking up sand. Two of them were his neighbors’, one boy and one girl. The parents watched from the cover of an umbrella. Beyond them, on the outskirts of the beach where the breeze failed to reach, someone sat. With lemonade in hand and notebook on their lap, they stared at the ocean, their hazel eyes analyzing thoughtfully.
A body whipped past him. He looked back to see a lady jogging down the beach, her ponytail bobbing and waving with the wind.
As he continued on, his eyes scanned the ocean. His grandmother was swimming carefully, chest deep. She had died long ago. Her husband popped out from underwater and kissed her. He had died a while back too.
Then he smiled. It was a dream.
He found himself strolling down the coast once more. He recognized more family members, both on the sand and in the sea. There were many others, all of them faintly familiar. He passed them without a second thought.
Slowly, the surge of people dwindled as the sun fell. A girl with sleek blonde hair sunbathed, while a tall Indian man covered his feet in sand. Further up, a short middle-aged woman gave the dumpster man a pizza strip, her red hair seemingly catching fire every time the wind disturbed it.
A bald girl stood knee deep in the water, bending over to feel a wave crash over her hands. She looked at him and smiled. She glanced back at her sobbing mother, then gently took another step into the ocean.
Today must not have been a good day for her.
He looked down and found partially erased footprints that stretched ahead. There, where the shore became rocky, an old man sat, his feet dangling in the ocean. White hair blew in the wind. His glasses reflected the setting sun.
Soon the old man left as well.
Alone on the beach he pressed on, heading for the rocks.
“No!” A female voice screamed.
He recognized the voice and turned.
The shore was empty. The waves were quiet. The seaside architecture and pitfalls were forgotten, left for the tide to devour. The sun glowed orange and dropped behind a distant cityscape.
Her arms reached out for him.
A wave crashed behind her, the foamy water reaching forward and wrapping around his feet. The ocean beckoned him. She beckoned him.

A sharp noise cut through the silence.