The Trouble With Paradise

It was supposed to be paradise. A tropical retreat, where the humdrum of everyday life seemed to fade away with the sound of every wave hitting the beach. The feel of powder soft sand under one's feet and that familiar smell of the sea wafting in through the relentless, constant breeze.

The beach is fairly deserted, except for the odd parent and kids, frolicking in the shallows. Not crowded, but certainly not deserted. Not in the absolute sense. It was a tranquil crowd, it could be said.

A lifeless form on the beach, on its back, arms horizontally open, like a shape of a crucifix.  At a glance, not terribly unusual or out of place, really. It might have even got a few dirty looks or scoffs. But all is fair, in this tropical beach setting, albeit a tad strange, but not to the practiced eye, really. The breeze kept its constant flow like a fan motor.