I
look to the sky and I notice the seagulls that normally swoop and screech in this wind
tossed sky are conspicuous by their absence. There should be seagulls but no.
The sky is empty.
The
shoreline is also empty except for me who stands upon it in the cold, grey, damp morning. There is only the lifeless sand and the waves that pound upon it in rage and futility.
Against
the grey, my eye sees something half-buried in the sand, something small and red. Curious
and lacking anything better to do, I walk across the beach to where I see this
thing. I bend down and grasping it with my fingers, I pull it from its sandy prison.
It’s
a hat, specifically a cap, a red cap. I brush away the sand caked to the fabric
of the cap. I can’t help but chuckle to myself when I see what I fully expected
to see, the white letters over the brim.
Make
America Great Again.
I
look around me and I realize I am well and truly alone. I look down to the cap
with its cracked white letters against the fading red background, mocking me.
Perhaps
I should raise my fist to the sky and scream in rage against the ghosts of
those who have left me here alone. “Damn
you! Damn you all to hell!”
But
there’s no one to hear my anger, my frustration, my loneliness.
And
my head is cold.
I
brush away the last of the sand from the cap, I put it on my head and continue
on my way against the unforgiving wind.
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