
I leave the storefronts behind,
the tinted windows reflecting the fading sunlight.
I race to the boardwalk
and descend the steps to the beach.
The soft sand trickles through my toes.
The wind propels me forward.
Beyond the white sand,
the waves thrash in a demented dance.
I return to Main Street to find my friends.
The palm trees bow their heads to the wind.
Rooftops sail over my head.
Glass crunches beneath my feet
as I run through the streets.
The windows hang broken and twisted.
The saddest sight is the church.
The once-white church stands charcoal-black,
debris at its proud feet.
They’re here.







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All sarcasm aside, you have set the stage for a mystery as to who "they" are. Perhaps demons in mind of the reader, wrecking the tranquility of an ideal vacation dream.
Ron