The small red crab daintily picked it's way across the man's open palm with the grace of a matador. It's mouthparts silently fluttered, as if tasting the salty wind.

The man watched the crab, and set it down on the trunk of a fallen coconut palm. It scuttled off, suddenly disinterested in the man, who got up and moved closer to the sea.

The sea was red.

The man's only company was an albatross. He remembered something about those birds pertaining to his old life. The man suddenly wished for a glass of water. And he wished for the albatross to go away.

And the sea grew darker. It was now the shade of blood and snow.

His hand rose to his scalp, and he brushed out a clump of hair. There were sores on the hand, and on the corners of his mouth. The man thought maybe they were scurvy blooms.

The man daintily picked his way across the pieces of metal strewn about the seashore. And the sea lapped against them with the breath of an angel and the shade of the devil.

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