The stretch of beach lies silent and cold, the sand a shade of blue-gray reflecting the moonlight, the dunes casting their crescent shapes shadows. The echos of the crowds that had filled the beach a few hours ago have faded to silence leaving the sound of the waves to take over.
A figure walks barefoot across the beach. His bare feet adding to the complex pattern of dunes in the sand as he makes his way towards the shore. His face is concealed by the shadows created by the hood covering his head. As he walks with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, his shadow dances across the sand.
He reaches the shore and stands looking out at the dark sea, the warm water touching his feet, and the sea breeze rippling his clothes.
He stands still.
And then, slowly, like the collapse of a building giving up under the weight of time, folds down and in coming into a sitting position gently, wrapping his arms around his knees.
And there, he bows his head, a symbol of resignation.
The breeze picks up a bit and sends little streams of sand flowing down the small dunes, creating low whispering sounds.
He screams. The sudden harsh cry of frustration exploding from beneath that deep, dark hood echos across the bay, disturbing once again the peace that had been created by the emptiness of the place.
And as the figure lies back, raising his arms behind his head to form a pillow, and looks up the stary night sky. A sigh escaped his lips. A sound so soft, someone two meters away would not have heard it, and yet, as full of emotion and meaning as the scream which had preceded it.
And as the last faint echos of the strong outburst fade away, at the back of the mind of the figure lying in this night scene, there is the comforting thought. The knowledge that, like all the other times before this one,no matter how hard it might be, he will get through.
He had done it before, he will do it again.
He raises one arm with the index finger extended pointing at the sky.
"With your help of course," he whispered.