Beach Holiday

Jordan wakes up on a beach with a tiny black goat nestled in the crook of his legs. He sweats and shivers until he rouses himself fully, taking in his surroundings to calm himself. The beach is quiet but for the gentle rhythmic sound of the waves. The water is deep red, darker farther out, lighter nearby where it breaks into pink foam. The beach has a comfortable warm black sand, good for sleeping on, under a dark grey sky. There are no plants and no trees, just the long black strand and jagged rocks peaking out over dunes uphill.

"Nightmare again?" the goat asks. Jordan nods. The tiny goat cries balefully in condolence. "Same as last night?" Jordan nods, running his fingers along his biceps, his elbow, squeezing.

"They take this arm first, and then the other, then this leg," he indicates, "Then this one. The blade they use looks unclean, like it has green oil on it? But it doesn't hurt, I don't know why. And... I don't even mind. That's the bad part."

He pauses and stares at the red ocean to calm himself. "It isn't that they're cutting off my arms and my legs, it's that I don't even care any more."

The goat remains silent as if thinking upon this. Jordan continues, "Then they lower me into the ground and shovel dirt on top. It gets everywhere, in my eyes and mouth, and makes it dark. Dark and cold. It feels... Not good exactly, but... It was relieving to have something in between me and them, at last. Like maybe finally now, they're done with me."

"But that doesn't last, does it?" the goat says. It has heard how this story goes numerous times but each time it listens for an extra detail.

"No, they are never done. They don't bury people to kill them, or dispose of them."

The goat paces, its tiny black hooves leave depressions in the fine black sand. It pre-empts the next part. "They bury people like a plumber buries a pipe, laying it in the ground with purpose."

"Yes, pipes. Or electrical wires. We are all connected, some more than others. I got the feeling I was important, like a junction or an intersection. I must be an extra large pipe or something. I fit right into their human jigsaw puzzle. A web of minds underground. Hundreds of minds, or what used to be minds."

"Used to be?" the goat perks up, its hairy ears lifting.

"It doesn't quite feel like people. More like... Memories that are slowly fading... Trying to remember what being a person felt like."

"I wouldn't know," the goat sighs.

"Sorry, I didn't mean..."

"It's okay. Being a person doesn't always seem good."

"Well yeah. I guess so. But being a torso and a head six feet under seems worse."

"But you're not. You're here. A person. Look at you! You even have legs."

Jordan stands up, tall, dwarfing the goat. Fine black sand gushes and sprays down his clothes as it falls away. "Have legs, will travel. Walk?"

The goat acquiesces in respectful silence and trots along the beach beside Jordan. Their daily routine, a long walk to the headland where they climb the hexagonal rocks and gaze out to the red ocean, along the black coastline, and inland at the level expanse of the inner sea with its blues and greens and purples and blacks that slowly swirl, catching the dim grey sun on their surface.