The Beach - By Ian Duncan
Desperately holding onto the white walls and dark green window frames while trembling in the wind are small pieces of peeling paint.


The atmosphere of natural seclusion is sustained by what few people are strewn across the beach in the distance.


Inside the hut, dark green paint masks the weak material of the walls, floor and ceiling. The room is small to begin with but the darkness of the paint makes it seem even smaller. Only the pallid weathered brown of the wooden floor provides relief from the straining impact of the intense green on my eyes.

Sand covers the floor. Curving into snake-like formations which creep along the wooden planks, it leads my eyes to dark corners of the room where virulent insects hide . . . anticipating new prey.

The small amount of light filling the room enters through two corner windows which face the water and a neighbouring hut. Dangling above the windows are the transparent weathered curtains. An irregular wind occasionally empties the room and the weightless cloth of the curtains is sucked up against the thin metal screen that fills the frame of each window.

The air is briefly cool until the curtains fall freely to sway in the breeze. The room has filled once more with the warm current which rolls up from the ocean.


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