The end of something
by Joe Roche
The sun seemed brighter than they had ever seen it before. They had always been told never to look straight at it but none of them could resist this one time. It hung low in the sky, a gigantic orb of symbolic power, shining its beautiful golden rays over the gentle lapping of the light blue sea and creating an incredible dark red sky from there to eternity.
This was the kind of sunset you read about in books, one of them thought to themselves. This can’t actually be real.
There was a slight breeze on top of the sand dune they were sitting on. The sparse patches of dry grass swayed and whistled in its wake as one of them pulled their light pink sweater closer around their now cool, shivering body. Another of them moved the hair out of their face and continued to look at the sky. Another sighed and looked away from the rest.
They were surrounded by miles and miles of dark sand and empty, cloudless sky.
One of them had driven them all up to the beach in their car. They had parked in the car park, left their shoes and socks, and had wordlessly started walking up the first dune. They all knew where they were going. After twenty minutes, sweating underneath the hot sun, their young bodies glistening with sweat, they took a break.
They all looked tired, their faces haggard, their eyes sunken. But they weren’t just physically tired. They all looked like they were tired inside. Like they were carrying lead weights within them.
To them it felt like they were.
From where the group were sitting they could hear the calls and screams of joyful children as they played in the warm end-of-summer sea.
Apart from that, and the cries of a few lonesome birds, there were no sounds to be heard. The group sat in silence as they watched the world unfolding before them.
“It’s so beautiful,” one of them said, their voice slightly choked.
Nobody disagreed. Nobody wanted to speak.
As one the group stood up. One of them took the object they had carried up there in their arms. It was about the size of a small bag of sugar but it hardly weighed anything. It was wrapped in a soft silk blanket.
The group continued to walk across the sand dunes on the same path they had walked so many times before. They didn’t need to look at the ground to find their footing, but they did anyway. None of them could trust themselves to look at the others.
They walked for another half an hour before they reached it.
It was a sheltered cove. Surrounded by humongous sand dunes and walls of ancient, leafy trees, it was cut off from the rest of the beach. To them it had often felt like it was cut off from the rest of the world.
On a day like today, you could be forgiven for thinking that.
At the bottom of the dune they were standing on they could see the remnants of a bonfire. It couldn’t have been theirs but, with the ring of black ash and the pile of unused driftwood, the cove looked exactly the same as the last time they had been there.
They stood stationary, staring at what had been their own personal paradise, with everyone in the group lost in a whirlwind of memories.
Most happy, some sad, but all wonderfully theirs and theirs alone.
“Shall we do this then?” one of them said, after a few minutes of silent contemplation.
“Yeah, I suppose,” said another.
“Aren’t we going to say anything?” said a person at the back of the group.
“What is there to say?” said the first.
Nobody answered and they did what they had come to do.
When it was finished, and they were preparing to leave, each one in turn looked back at the cove. They all knew that this would probably be the last time they would ever come here.
Or at least ever come here together.
Before climbing back down the final dune and getting into the car, they stopped and looked at the sun, the beach and the sky for one last time.