The Pups of War

Twelve concrete steps connected the beach with the long promenade fronting the town. Brilliant sunshine illuminated the shuttered souvenir shops, empty tea rooms and unattended winkle stands along the prom, but the beach below was hazed grey and nagged by a thin cold drizzle.

Some way above the reach of the uneasy waves, Alex Hickory sat in silence, enjoying the solitude and the play of the rain on his skin, moulding the damp, coarse sand into little grooves and channels with his fingers. If he looked back he would perhaps see one or two strollers taking the air on the sunny promenade, or Dandy the ice-cream seller stubbornly pursuing his trade despite the obvious absence of customers; but Alex preferred to gaze out across the murky water and imagine himself, just for a moment or two, completely alone.

The idly questing fingers of his right hand bumped something solid beneath the sand and vaguely began to dig it free; while out above the rising waves a sorry-looking seagull fluttered listlessly back and forth.

The rain was becoming colder and heavier, and a stiffening breeze drove it with little mercy. It occurred to Alex that he was rather more wet and lonely than contemplative; and suddenly the beach no longer seemed the peaceful haven it had, but moments before, been, but horribly desolate instead. Still, his fingers dug and scraped around the object in the sand, which was hard and shiny, taking shape beneath his touch.

The hair was now slicked down to Alex's skull by the rain, and little streams of water trickled down over his face like tears. The itinerant gull had moved on out of view, or been swallowed by the sea; or more likely had just faded to invisibility behind the mist of rain which crushed the whole horizon to a uniform vista of nothingness. Either way, Alex hadn't noticed until it was already gone.

He glanced back towards the town, seeking reassurance; but there were no strollers, no ice-cream vendors to be seen along the seafront, no living things at all. And even as he plucked the the object from the sand and found it to be a bottle, Alex was up, and running desperately towards the sunshine, gripped by the insane conviction that while his back was turned the entire human race had snuck away, leaving him irrecoverably alone, the last person on Earth.

*

Which was nonsense, of course. When he reached the promenade the bright sunshine evaporated such silly conceits much quicker than it did the rain water. Away from the rain and wind, Alex grew warm, and his confidence returned with the colour in his cheeks. As he wiped the streams from his face, and dried as best he could his bedraggled locks, an elderly man, Mr Phillips it was, rounded the corner and proceeded along the prom at a leisurely pace to the accompaniment of shrill yaps from a poodle which was worrying his ankles.

As Alex began to walk towards the pier he saw Dandy emerge from the public lavatory by the entrance and return to the ice-cream cart stationed nearby.
Posted by matt at October 30, 2003 12:57 AM