Refugee Writing

We got given an inspiration for writing which was a video about refugees. Here is my moment in time:

The elegant, cerulean curtains sweep across the horizon, enveloping the heavens. The cobalt waves creep up the shore before ebbing away silently, slinking stealthily back to the sea, inching away from the golden honeycomb sand. The dulcet trill of the Crimson song birds rings out, ambrosial - soft and soothing, welcoming the radiating medallion to the sky. They dance between mother natures creations, gracefully hopping to their melodious song. This is a serene, tranquil paradise—A picture perfect scene—A blissful beach. But nothing is ever entirely perfect. Immersed on the edge of this paradise though, an erratic shape bounces between the hands of the deep, the fingers playfully tossing the boat back and forth. But then it falters. Lurching precariously, teetering.  It stops. The harmonies suddenly cease. The once playful fingers pick up a new tempo, the urgency increases. The fingers fight against the buoyancy of the boat, slipping between the gaps in the mouldy boards, stealing away chips of the flaky, yellowed, paint. The sky darkens, now a curtain of admiral anger. The screams tear through the placid beach like shards of jagged glass. They pierce the air, They ignite adrenalin. Dip, resurface, dip, bobs up again, Poseidon's fingers are playing a dangerous game, oblivious to the desperate screams. The boat dips again, but there is no resurface. He starts bubbling, fingers turning into bolts of acid, engulfing the few tangerine aids that are scattered through the water. They try to wrestle against the waves unsuccessfully. The screams were heard, the angels have come. The screams that chilled your bones have been countered. Eager cries of help echo over the shore. The figures wade in, oblivious to the tempting fingers and the mind numbing iciness. They grab the rubbery life jackets and haul them to the shore. Their minds set to their task. They are shivering, shaking, convulsing violently. No one should have to experience this on the peaceful beaches of Pakistan, coming from one horror to the next. The screams continue, slicing through the salt tinged air because of the inconvenient truth; not everyone is saved.  The kindness radiates off these strangers. They rush to help the refugees in hoards, people they've never seen before, never known.