So sick of being one of the crowd, crammed together with others who looked the same, but did they think the way he did? Did they hate the sun beating down, the feet crushing them into the buried glass fragments, the buckets stuffing them together before they’re hoisted to a height that made them dizzy, then punched down, collapsing back to the ground while screams rang out, cries for mommy only stopped after tromping across the expanse of them to the snack bar.
He didn’t think anyone else noticed all this; it was routine by now.
But he knew there was more out there. He had memories of being minerals, of being on land, far away from the water that washed over them, packing them even more tightly together, compressing them into one thing, “the beach,” though he wishes it could dislodge him, sweep him into the current and take him to another country far away, where he could finally see what else was out there.
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