The lonely man stood ankle deep in water, looking out upon the… area he had known his whole life. Behind him, palm trees rose out of the shallow water. Ahead of him, down the steep slope were the dead trunks of more palms submerged in the salty sea. Across the lagoon he could see the darker patches of water that were the other islands of the atoll.
Today was the day that one of his longest held assumptions died. He always believed that he would die in the land where he was born, but today was the first day that the low tide did not expose the hilltop. He had outlived the land where he was born, a ridiculous idea to him. He was unable to come to terms with the truth when his people left; he stayed behind to witness the death of his homeland. How could the sound of the end of his nation be the gentle lapping of the waves and a cooling sea breeze?