A vast, desolate stretch of sand under a bruised purple-grey sky. The NORTH SEA churns, a cold, angry grey. The wind is relentless.
SOUND of waves crashing, a constant, oppressive roar.
The beach is littered with the ghosts of consumption: sun-bleached plastic bottles, tangled fishing nets, bottle caps like metallic shells.
LENA (20s), sharp and frustrated, walks with a jerky stride. She wears a thin, worn jacket. SAM (20s), cynical and weary, walks beside her, hands buried in the pockets of a faded hoodie.
Lena stops. A laugh catches in her throat, a choked, bitter sound. She digs the heel of her sneaker into the wet sand, watching foam creep and recede.
Sam doesn't laugh. He hunches his shoulders against the wind, staring at a dark smear of a TANKER on the horizon.
He kicks a piece of bleached driftwood. A spray of fine grit lands on Lena’s cheek. She doesn't wipe it away.
She starts walking again, scanning the sand. Her eyes land on a half-buried plastic bottle.
Sam catches up, his voice low, almost lost to the wind.
He glances over his shoulder, a nervous tic. The beach is empty. Just them and the waves. Still, the glance.
Her voice cracks on the last word. She knows he's right.
A gust of wind whips sand into their faces. Lena squints, tasting salt and grit.
She kicks at a thick, rubbery piece of seaweed.
She shakes her head, pulling wind-whipped hair from her face with clumsy, cold fingers.
Sam stops. He bends down, picks up a perfectly smooth, grey skipping stone. He tosses it. It skips twice on an incoming wave, then vanishes.
Lena stares at him. His eyes are hard, opaque, reflecting the bruised sky. A cold dread clenches in her stomach.
Her voice trembles. She wants it to be simple.
He gestures vaguely at the trash-strewn beach, the vast ocean, the hazy outline of the city down the coast.
A dull ache throbs behind Lena’s eyes. She pushes her fingers into her temples.
The wind picks up, colder now. Lena shivers, pulling her jacket tighter. The sun, a weak, pale orange disc, sinks into the clouds. The ocean surface turns a deep, bruised indigo.
A large wave surges up the beach, closer than expected. Lena gasps, jumping back. Her sneakers sink into the soft sand.
Sam doesn't flinch. He lets the cold water wash over his shoes. He stares at the grey expanse.
Lena nods. Everyone knows about it.
Sam finally turns to her. In his eyes, a profound, bottomless exhaustion. It chills Lena to the bone.
Sam shrugs. A small, dismissive gesture that speaks volumes.
He picks up another stone, smaller this time, and spins it between his fingers. The air grows colder, carrying a faint, acrid smell from the distant city, like burning plastic.
Sam stops spinning the stone. He holds it in his palm, then closes his fingers around it. A tight, white-knuckled grip.
He squeezes the stone harder.
The wind howls. The waves crash. The words hang between them, hollow.
Suddenly, Sam opens his hand.
CLOSE ON SAM'S PALM. The smooth, grey stone is split cleanly in half. Two sharp, jagged fragments rest on his raw, red skin. He crushed it.
Lena stares at the broken stone, then at his hand, then back at the churning ocean.
Sam closes his hand again, clenching the sharp fragments. His face is unreadable in the deepening gloom.
He turns and starts walking back the way they came, towards the distant, glittering lights of the city.
Lena is left standing alone.
CLOSE ON LENA'S FACE. She looks down at her own empty hands, then back up at Sam's retreating figure. The bitter tang of salt and metallic dust coats her tongue.
The roar of the ocean is the only answer.
FADE TO BLACK.
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