Fire
Once there was a party on the beach.
They came from out of town, no one knew where from or why they’d chosen this spot. They swam in the sea, played games on the beach and sunbathed stretched out on the sand.
Later, they built a fire and roasted themselves a feast of maize and zucchini and burgers made entirely from cheese, wrapped in walnut bread and washed down with banana beer. There was music and dancing until around midnight, when they began to drift away in ones and twos.
The next day the regular beach people, the dog walkers and Sunday surfers gathered on the beach, but no one had seen them, not close up. Some had heard the laughter, others said the music got on their nerves after a while.
One claimed he’d been splashed by a woman who had a tail, just like a mermaid.
Not one of them heard a car door slam when the party broke up.
They combed the beach looking for clues, but there was nothing. Not a crumb of cheese or a morsel of maize. Not an empty bottle or cigarette end.
Only the fire pit remained, a ring of stones on gritty beach sand. Even the embers had been tidied away.
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