———-closed for @tame-the-fox
What had even been behind the impulse that had so thoughtlessly driven Camille here? The rhythm sectionist in her should have been ashamed, with her thought process being so mistimed with her actions, but misfortune would find her as the victim-of-fact here. Here being in that: rationality only chose to surface then–presenting itself as too little, and by much too late…
She could have imparted her blame to naivety, this time. Nothing short of it would have lead her out to where she found herself now: as a dot hidden amongst the mass that littered this foamy shore of the Pacific.Â
The sight was a wonder to behold, this much was incontestable. The heat shone in a delightful blaze onto the skin, reflecting off the sand until it shone to the tune of a pearled sheet before her–blinding, but in a way that exhilarated, rather than offended. The ocean roared just at its bed, and from the space were its cool waters lapped at the knees of the locals, to the road, hardly any decent room was provided from one body to the next.Â
Had this been her home, it would have rightly been a paradise for her. But upon further inspection, Camille could see that there were very few on this beach who favored her, or could even be called her sort, after she squinted and searched again. No one outside of the employees at the concession, that was.Â
That would figure as well: that her ill-planning, and unchecked impulse resulted in her beach experience being nothing more than sitting on a bench at the stand–ironically with no money to even refresh herself from the heat or her thirst–and left to make friendly with those here out of necessity rather than luxury. At least she could find comfort in her own… in numbers, as the saying went.
