The Beach

Off the map, the lagoon kept its own grammar. I came in light with Daffy's map and a split name. The water looked clear from far off; up close, the shore had teeth, and every grin on the sand hid the same small calculation. Beach — not paradise. Beach — a bargain. Keep it secret. Keep it shut. Built on hunger. Called it home. The commune thinned. The dream went feral. Salt on skin, and the smiles turned brittle. We found the crop, the rot, the fear underneath — and the place that was meant to save us started to feel like a trap we'd made ourselves. No one stays untouched. Not there. The body learns the weather. The mind learns the crack. Beach — not paradise. Beach — a bargain. Keep it secret. Keep it shut. Called it sanctuary. It was only the tide. Off the map. Nothing stays hidden. The sharks never left.