Beach Fire

The waves were lapping against his feet when he came to his senses. As he opened his eyes he saw the mist and the gentle swell, and he knew that he was on the beach. The problem was not having the slightest idea how he had come to be there.

He looked around, hoping amongst other things to see a pile of clothes, as the breeze cut into him like a knife. There were no clothes in a tidy little pile up the beach, though there was a fireplace built above the high water mark, and what looked like enough fuel for the night at least. He turned away from the waves and walked back across the wet sand, his feet sinking just a little with each step as if he were walking on a giant butterscotch blamance.

As the sand turned dry, the little camp area became much more obvious, and he could see places where the evidence of prior tenants was all too clear; empty Coke cans and pizza boxes strewn across the sand.

He stepped across to the makeshift hearth and filled it with kindling, then twigs, and then he lit it.

It blazed.

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