Writer In The Sun

Anything but retired, I lay on the small foam mattress on the floor. "Just like home," I thought.

It was a lie, though. Outside lay the Pacific Ocean, bright blue death and so much beauty.

Hawai'i, the island, is an active volcano. Where I was located was literally on the side of it. We had made our way down to the beach that morning, a place called Queen Bath. Man-eating Tiger and Great White varieties of shark that roamed the waters surrounding the islands. This particular island was a haven for Tiger sharks.

The thing about Queen Bath is, when the lava came down the mountain that last time, it made this protected little cove. The Queen of Hawai'i would visit it and and bathe in the waters, and not have to worry about the sharks. It was a holy place, once. Now big businesses were openly buying the land and destroying it, building Wal-Marts and Starbucks and the like. The Hawaiians couldn't do a damn thing but watch, and got no money from the raping of their land. Poor Hawaiians were everywhere. Parking to go on our short walk to the beach, a family of five stood beside their vehicle, tailgate open to the air. It was set up as a sleeping area. I heard, I saw the anger they possessed. 

But, oh, what a tan.