He picked up a brown glass bottle and swayed it back and forth. It was half empty. The liquid inside sloshed with the movement of his hand matching the rhythm of the ocean. He brought the bottle up to his lips quickly inhaling the scent of the liquid before quaffing it down at once. He moves the bottle back and forth no longer hearing the sloshing of the liquid. With a satisfied look on his face he flings it forward. The bottle flies through the sky, the ugly brown color breaking the beautiful array of blue that the sky held. The man had wanted for it to land in the water, for him to hear the splash of the bottle as the glass makes contact with sharp cold waters of the Atlantic. It lands a few feet away. Unsatisfied by this, the man places his palms on the burning sand in attempt to get himself on his feet. He fails and comes crashing onto the sand. “Damn it,” he mutters under his breath, the stench of alcohol leaving his mouth. He closes his eyes and repositions himself so that his knees are in contact with the harsh sand and his hands are in front guiding him. Slowly he makes his way toward the bottle. Clumsily he grabs for it, almost missing. With every ounce of strength left in him he lifts the bottle in the air as if it is his victory, a reminder of his glory days. He sits there in a faded t-shirt, hair bleached blonde from the many hours he has spent here on this beach and knees digging into the sand as he admires the bottle in the sky. He flings it once more, hoping that it lands in the ocean. It doesn’t. It lands once again as few feet away from him, but this time it shattered with the impact. The man gasped and quickly crawled to the broken bottle as fast as his knees would let him, as if his life depended on reaching those shattered pieces. He didn't stop until he reached a brown piece of broken glass. He kept searching for the other scattered pieces of the glass bottle until the sky turned a mix of purple and yellow. Desperately, the old man tried piecing the remains of the bottle that he had found. Once again trying to recreate the glorious image of the bottle in the sky, but that wouldn't happen because that was his last bottle and it was broken. “Damn it,” he spoke to the air as he threw the bottle pieces into the sky and turned his back so that the suns rays are no longer blinding him. One of the pieces landed in the water. Just for a second he can hear the splash of the water. A smile forms on his face as he makes his way back up the beach in search of another six-pack of brown glass bottles.
August 30, 2016