On the Waterfront Line

WaterfrontPhoto © Al Forbes 2015

It’s only a 10 minute ride out to the Old Waterfront. I have done this trip every summer for the last five years. It’s a sort of bitter-sweet reminder of how things used to be.

We had a guest house there. Nothing fancy, just a nice little place, with a prime position and a loyal customer base. We were never going to make a fortune, but had planned to stay there until retirement.

For a time after the ‘Climate Adjustment’, I was in a bad place, and had to rely on Government handouts. But I was able to start a new business making small collapsible boats. After I got the government contract, the company expanded to working around the clock.

But, if I could, I’d turn back the clock to how it used to be. To a more civilised time.  On a clear day you could look out into the bay, and watch the pale sky merge into the welcoming sea. When a family could safely walk along the seafront. When decent people still had families.

So here I am, alone, looking down from my helicopter at the Old Waterfront sign, chained and anchored, five miles from land. A reminder of the times before the seas rose, and took our Waterfront, and their lives.

I pause, before throwing a wreath onto the water.

As I land in my secure compound, I suddenly feel revulsion at what I have become. This is not what they would want.

I turn off the electrified fences, and open the gates. It takes me a few minutes to write out the sign:

FOOD AND SHELTER HERE, ALL WELCOME!

This story was inspired by the photo, provided for Sunday Photo Fiction July 5th 2015,

by Al Forbes. 

Please click the logo for more details of Sunday Photo Fiction.

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 To view other entries click the link here.

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