The expanse of a beach stretches out in front of me when figures start to appear. Then as the sun flared, the unmistakable sounds of a busy airport filled my ears. I saw a new figure as he sat at an airport gate.

—

The first one was a minor irritation. A flicker on the phone screen, shifting his departure from B8 to C22. Mark sighed, not looking up from the podcast playing through his noise-canceling headphones. He hoisted his backpack and joined the river of travelers.

The second change, C22 to A4, was more annoying. The walk was longer. He thumbed the volume up, drowning out the world. He noticed, vaguely, that the crowds seemed thinner. Red-eye flight, he thought, scrolling through his phone. Probably the last one of the night.

The third change came as he reached A4. A4 to D1. That’s when he felt the first prickle of unease. D1 was in a completely different terminal. The escalators were still. He had to walk.

It was on the long, silent trek to D1 that he realized the true silence. It wasn't just quiet. It was hollow. He pulled one headphone away from his ear.

Nothing. No boarding announcements, no squeaking luggage wheels, no murmur of a thousand conversations. Just the low, electrical hum of the airport itself.

He stopped and looked around. The vast terminal was empty. Truly empty. The food court shuttered, the newsstands dark. He was the only soul in an expanse of sterile light and polished floors.

A jolt of pure adrenaline shot through him. He spun around, searching for anyone, a janitor, a security guard. Nothing.

System glitch, his mind insisted, a desperate, rational plea. They evacuated and I didn't hear the announcement. My headphones.

He ran to the nearest departure board. His flight, Delta 4-5-1 to... he squinted. The destination was blank. Just the flight number and a new gate: G12.

Where was he going? He couldn't remember at the moment, but he didn't have time to worry about it right now.

Gate G12 didn’t exist on any map he could find. The letters ended at F. He ran, now, panic setting in. His footsteps echoed like gunshots in the cavernous silence. Every gate he passed was empty, dark, abandoned.

He finally found it: a single, unremarkable gray door at the end of a deserted concourse. It looked like a maintenance closet. G12.

He pushed it open.

Instead of brooms and mop buckets, he felt a warm breeze. The scent of salt air drifted toward him, impossible but undeniable. His heart hammered against his ribs as he stepped forward into what should have been a maintenance closet.

The industrial carpet gave way to sand beneath his feet. Behind him, he could still hear the electrical hum of the airport, but ahead, the gentle crash of waves grew louder. He took another step, then another, each footfall sinking deeper into warm sand.

The panic that had gripped him in the empty terminal began to ebb, replaced by something he couldn't name. Not peace, exactly, but a strange recognition. As if this place, impossible as it was, had been waiting for him.

He blinked in the sudden, brilliant sunlight and found himself standing on a beach. It was perfect, serene, and utterly deserted. When he turned back, the door to G12 was gone. Only the endless coastline stretched in both directions.

The fear should have returned then, but it didn't. Instead, a profound sense of arrival settled over him. The struggle was over. He was where he was supposed to be.

Far down the shoreline, he saw two figures. Their forms were blurred, like mirages. He could just make them out: a man in a white coat, a woman with her head bowed. He tried to call out, but his voice was lost in the sea breeze. He tried to run toward them, but his feet were leaden. They were on the other side of an invisible, unbreakable pane of glass.

Sarah looked away from the doctor’s kind, hopeless face and turned toward the window. Sunlight streamed into the quiet room, falling across the still form of her husband in the hospital bed. She listened to the machines breathe for him. The doctor’s words "It doesn’t look like he's going to come out of it anytime soon" echoed not as a sentence, but as a finality.

She walked to the window, needing air, but the pane was sealed. Below, the land fell away in a sharp cliff, giving way to a vast, empty beach that stretched to the horizon. Her breath caught in her throat. There, far below, was a lone figure standing at the water's edge, staring out at the endless sea. The distance was great, but the outline was unmistakable, the flapping, pale cloth of a hospital gown.

The End.

—

The peaceful resolve of the lone figure on the beach causes me to pause. He appears to be smiling as he turns toward the breaking waves.

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