The Seaside Cottage

It was a curiously fine day. 

Inside a lovely cottage beside the sea, a man can be seen sprawling on his king-sized bed, exposed to a few rays of sunlight slanting through the curtains, in a seemingly blissful state. On the bedside table were the keys of the cottage. Beside it was a sliver pistol. 

Abruptly, a piercing screech of a seagull slashed through the tranquil atmosphere, shattered the silence, causing him to shudder in his sleep.

In his dream, he was there again. At the fire scene. 

Wails and howls, filled with excruciating agony, reverberated inside his head. The image of people’s skin blistering, peeling and then melting away under extreme heat haunted him like a poltergeist that refused to surrender. The heat wave ripped into his face, scorching his skin. But he couldn’t feel anything, his heart was already burnt to ashes, fortheywere inside the building, his family.

“What have I done!” He murmured, so appalled that he was unable to find his voice. 

Deep down, he knew that he himself was the culprit. He meant no harm, his daughter always begged him to buy a place at the sea so they could enjoy the splendid view, so he simply did what everyone else in Africa is doing, saving the money intended to equip the building with fire hydrants to fulfill his daughter’s wish and create a new start for his family. But instead of giving his family a taste of heaven, he sent them straight down to hell.

He awoke. Outside the window, the bright sunlight gleams down onto the the beaches, where numerous children were frolicking around, while their parents leisurely reclined on the benches, cheerfully savoring the protection provided by the parasol. From time to time, a light breath of wind playfully ruffled their hair, interrupting their musings on their delightful reveries. 

That was the life he had planned for his family if were not for the accident. He had indeed saved enough money to purchase this seaside cottage, but he has no one to enjoy it with any more. He was trapped in the cottage to ruminate on the incident, alone, again and again, until the end of his life. 

Stroking his fingers along the edges of the pistol, he knew that this torment wouldn’t last long.