Ahead of him stretched a pristine expanse of white sand untouched by the prints or marks of any living thing. When he turned to look behind, not only were his own footprints visible, but so was the impress of many other feet, animal paw marks, the casts of worms and a tidemark of dried seaweed, cuttlefish bones, wooden debris. All the tracks were moving in the same direction as his own. In the distance he thought he could see other people, but so far off it was hard to tell whether they were moving or not. Still the beach ahead remained unsullied as though it were constantly renewing itself, flawless and full of possibility. Only at the edge of his vision was the sand marked by signs of disturbance. He saw small, colourless crabs emerge and scuttle away. He turned again and the people behind him were now much nearer, and something about the way they were moving forward, a vague hostility in their swagger, unnerved him. He increased his pace, scanning ahead for a sign of human habitation, or a boat, but all he could see was sand, an empty sea, and the forest beyond the dunes. Glancing over his shoulder again, he saw that the group, now identifiably made up of both men and women, had closed the distance further. He heard angry voices. Under his feet the moist sand was firm and he began to run.
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Simon Collings
Picture Jane Buekett
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