No matter the time of day, the season or the weather, the waves kept rolling in.
It was comforting to the souls of the dead that some constant remain. After all, they were there because the waves, the ocean and the weather had conspired to strand them on this beach.
Some sat on the sand looking out over the rolling waves, their sightless eyes seeking the reason they had ended up here, on this godforsaken place miles from anywhere and for most of the year as inhospitable as you’d imagine.
Others waded in the breaking waves, trapped in a perennial battle with the buffeting sea, stuck, so it seemed so close and yet so far from salvation.
Every so often a new soul would wash up and be lifted up onto the sand, and there they gathered waiting for it to awaken to its eternity. Then they’d watch as it took up its position on the beach. Souls were never envious of another soul, just accepting and happy the new soul had found a place to be.
If you could see what they could see you’d observe the dead littered from one end of the beach to another, from the water to the rocks, marooned forever wondering if this was all their eternity might amount to.