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I wrote this story in the spring of 2016, when the migrant crisis in Europe was still new. Seven years and a half later, you'd think we'd have gotten our act together, but instead we just made things worse. And for some reason I never posted it here before, so might as well.
It was a beautiful day at the beach, with not a cloud in the sky and just enough wind to temper the burning sun, the piercing cries of seagulls breaking up the heartbeat of waves washing up on hot sand. The meteor shower was just a bonus; nothing like that had been announced, but still they came, strings of silver sparks streaking across the sky. People pointed, watched with binoculars, filmed with their phones, shouts of excitement punctuating the bigger fireballs. But none of them ever came closer than the horizon. For a while, the show seemed to have ended. Then the wind picked up, bringing with it small dark clouds that churned furiously as they raced low over the water. People began to panic, swimmers racing each other ashore while those sunning themselves grabbed their towels and ran. A couple fell off their jet skis, narrowly avoiding one of the clouds that swept close to the shore. For a moment its shape suggested a bird of prey as it hovered above a hastily deserted jetty made slick and wet by the spray. Then it lifted off and sped back out over the water, leaving someone who struggled to stand in the same place.
Among the upturned parasols, three young people, no older than twenty, sat and gaped.
"Was that a twister?" one of the girls asked, bewildered.
"It didn't look like one at all," answered the other one matter-of-factly.
The boy who was with them kept quiet, eyeing the person on the jetty suspiciously. He looked about the same age as the trio, with darker skin, wearing only cargo shorts and sandals, and carrying a satchel. The young man calmly walked up to them as if nothing had happened, carefully picking his way among wind-swept litter.
"May I sit down?" he asked politely.
( Read more... )
It was a beautiful day at the beach, with not a cloud in the sky and just enough wind to temper the burning sun, the piercing cries of seagulls breaking up the heartbeat of waves washing up on hot sand. The meteor shower was just a bonus; nothing like that had been announced, but still they came, strings of silver sparks streaking across the sky. People pointed, watched with binoculars, filmed with their phones, shouts of excitement punctuating the bigger fireballs. But none of them ever came closer than the horizon. For a while, the show seemed to have ended. Then the wind picked up, bringing with it small dark clouds that churned furiously as they raced low over the water. People began to panic, swimmers racing each other ashore while those sunning themselves grabbed their towels and ran. A couple fell off their jet skis, narrowly avoiding one of the clouds that swept close to the shore. For a moment its shape suggested a bird of prey as it hovered above a hastily deserted jetty made slick and wet by the spray. Then it lifted off and sped back out over the water, leaving someone who struggled to stand in the same place.
Among the upturned parasols, three young people, no older than twenty, sat and gaped.
"Was that a twister?" one of the girls asked, bewildered.
"It didn't look like one at all," answered the other one matter-of-factly.
The boy who was with them kept quiet, eyeing the person on the jetty suspiciously. He looked about the same age as the trio, with darker skin, wearing only cargo shorts and sandals, and carrying a satchel. The young man calmly walked up to them as if nothing had happened, carefully picking his way among wind-swept litter.
"May I sit down?" he asked politely.
( Read more... )
