Plastic Bag

He sits and waits as he has always done. But now he doesn't mind so
much. Now he finds it easy, because now he has time. And because he has
time, and because he finds it easy, he feels relaxed. But the gun in
the plastic bag in front of him gnaws at his mind and makes him feel
ever so slightly nervous.

He sits on the cool sand and looks towards the distance. The sun, warm
and golden, is just about to break free of the horizon and float into
the clear blue sky.

He loves this moment.

Ever since he was a small boy he has always been presently surprised to
see the huge yellow globe actually free itself of the pull of the
earth. And, like every small boy, he truly believes that the times that
he doesn't witness it then he can never be completely sure that it has
actually happened. And for this reason he has always disliked cloudy
mornings.

He pushes his hands slowly backwards and forwards through the cool
white sand as he watches the sky. He likes the feel of the coarse
granules against the soft skin of his hands. The sand is still moist to
the touch and sticks to his hands like gloves.

He lowers himself onto his elbows, digs them into the sand, and closes
his eyes. The cool morning sea breeze washes over him and he sighs
deeply. After what he has been through over the last few months, he
feels that he can now relax. He knows that at times his stress levels
have bordered on extreme and he has come close a few times to running
away. But he stuck with it, carried on when maybe he should have
stepped back. He knows that it is ironic now to think like that because
of how it ended up. But still, he likes to look on the positive side
now. One of the good side effects of the event, and he knows he should
be thankful for any.

He opens his eyes again. The sea has retreated a little further, but he
feels that its progress is too slow. He can become impatient over
things that he has no control over. It has always been one of his
faults, but he has never been one to do things to improve himself in
ways that he feels are unimportant. He tries to make a calculation in
his head about how long he feels the sea will take to retreat fully
then return, but it is futile as he realises that he doesn't know how
far out the sea actually goes. This shocks him a little when he thinks
how long he has been here. But he knows that he has all the time in the
world.

When he came down to the waters edge just before dawn he thought about
stripping off and swimming, but decided against it. He had felt how
cold the water could be at that time before, and knew it would be a
mistake to chance it today of all days. But now the sun had risen and
the air had become warmer, he thinks again of a swim, and a chance to
wash off the dirt of the last few hours. No, he thinks, later. Besides
he still has to do something with the gun, because he knows he cannot
leave it on the beach while he goes off, even if he is alone. He
resolves to hide it first then swim later.

He stands and picks up the plastic carrier bag. He is still shocked by
how heavy the gun is. After watching all of those Hollywood movies
where the action hero effortlessly swings his gum left and right he
assumed that they would be light. But with it in his hand it feels as
heavy as death. And he feels nothing like an American action
hero.

He wraps the gun up tightly in the plastic, tying a knot in it to keep
it secure, then stuffs it into his trouser pocket. He feels slightly
silly trying to hide it, as he knows he is completely alone, but it
decides to err on the side of caution. He thinks about throwing the gun
into the sea, but that would mean waiting until the sea has retreated
its full distance, and he doesn't want it near him for that amount of
time. However, he decides to remember this idea as it could be one
place that the gun would never be found.

He moves away from the sea and up towards mainland behind him. Along
the edge of the sand where it meets the coarse heather there are a
number of rocky outcrops and he heads towards the closest one. The sand
at the top of the beach is much drier than where he was sitting and it
makes is walk harder. His feet sink and the sand slips down into his
trainers where he can feel it moving about in between his toes. He
feels like stopping and emptying out the sand right away but knows it
is pointless. He did that before on his way down and found that it came
back within three footsteps.

When he reaches the outcrop he sits down and gazes back towards the
sea. In the early morning haze he cannot see very far out across the
water and he wonders if there are any boats out there with people on
them looking back towards him and his beach. He spends a few moments
staring off into the distance and lets his mind drift.

After a while he climbs off the rock and lets himself fall to the sand.
He looks around for a suitable place to dig, and wonders if the tide
actually reaches this far up. It is not something that he had noticed
before and he curses his stupidity. But it is too late; he will not
wait for the tide to come back for him to check now. He will just have
to dig down as far as he can and hope for the best. Besides, he could
always throw it as far as he can into the sea like he planned
earlier.

He begins to dig using his hands but finds it hard as the sand is so
soft up here that it falls back into the hole faster than he can shovel
it out. He decides that the best course of action would be to find some
sort of digging device, such as a branch or even better, a large flat
stone. He moves around, searching, and eventually finds an old bleached
branch. Moving back to the hole he begins to dig again and doesn't stop
until he reaches the cold wet sand some feet below the surface. Here he
places the gun wrapped in white plastic, resting for a moment to study
it lying in the darkness. The contrast pleases him and he is content to
spend the next few moments letting himself absorb into the image before
him.

When he wakes the sun has reached overhead. His throat is dry, and his
tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. He remembers that he has let
some bottles of water further along the shoreline and he slowly climbs
to his feet and starts to make his way towards them.

The air feels like a warm blanket on his skin. He gauges that the
temperature must be over a hundred degrees, and because of this he
takes his tee shirt off and ties it on his head as a makeshift hat. He
doesn't want to pass out with heatstroke, at least not yet. Sunburn,
however, doesn't bother him now. If anything it will be more of a
pleasure that anything. Walking along the sand enjoying the sun makes
him remember back to the holidays of his youth. Times that make him
smile now, but then they were painful. But pain fades with age, he
thinks, smiling ruefully.

He reaches the water and takes a long drink. The water is almost as
warm as the air and he curses himself that he didn't place them in the
shade. But early in the morning temperatures are different and it is
hard to think that it could get so hot. His stomach rumbles with the
start of hunger. He cannot remember the last time that he had eaten.
But he places it to the back of his mind. He has too much to do before
he can think about food.

He picks up the rest of his water bottles and heads off towards the
trees that stand towards the low hills behind him.

"Time to prepare," he tells himself.