The water

was blue

in the light

of the setting sun.

No,

not blue,

aquamarine

With thousands

of tiny diamonds

sparkling on the surface

of the clear,

aquamarine water.

The sand

is warm

but not too warm.

Just warm enough

that for one second,

if you close your eyes,

You can feel

like you're somewhere

in paradise.

He comes up

behind her.

His arms

encircle her waist.

She leans back contentedly.

This moment

is a slice

of paradise.

They are away

from all the plagues

the war has given birth to.

Here,

they can relax

and be free.

Or can they?

It does not start

with a huge rampage.

For once,

the enemy uses the cunning

they are supposed

to possess.

Slowly,

but surely,

the sky

of their paradise

begins to darken.

The enemy

does not give

warning.

They attack the beach

without mercy,

setting panic

upon the crowd.

A flash of green light.

The scream of a mother

as her child drops lifeless

onto the warm,

but not too warm,

sand.

The man and the woman

stand up.

Their world

is already

a swirl of instincts

and battle strategy.

A flash of sickly yellow,

not the yellow

lighting up

the aquamarine sea.

A blood-curdling shriek.

The woman falls,

her shrieks

of indescribable agony

cutting like knives

through the panic.

It stops,

for a second.

Then,

the panic resumes

more chaotic than ever.

A flash of red

and the enemy is unconscious

for now.

The woman's screams stop,

but she is still

on the sand.

The man

hovers over her protectively.

Colors fly

out of the stick in his hand

at alarming rates.

The woman,

with shaking hands,

gropes along the surf,

for the stick to match his own.

More of the enemy falls.

Their bodies

hit the sand

where the woman lay

just moments before

with sickening thuds.

The man is not deterred.

The woman

has found her stick,

but her hands

still shake.

The colors

coming out of her stick

are dull and flat.

Each red light

makes the enemy

drop for only

a few seconds.

The man

looks over to

the woman.

There is an understanding

in both of their eyes.

The lights that come out of the man's stick

are no longer red,

But the same

sickly green

as those of the enemy.

After that, the enemy stays down.

The woman's lights

are still red.

Her arm

flies out,

and meets nothing but air.

An animal

bursts out

of the woman's stick.

It shines like the moon,

made up of nothing,

but vapor.

The woman's legs tremble

and she is down on the sand

once more.

The man covers her

like this is nothing new.

The woman's animal

gallops across the water.

Her eyes are heavy.

She cannot move,

she cannot defend herself.

But she is too broken to care.

Her thoughts swirl around her head

like a bag in the wind.

The world goes double,

now triple.

She does not see the allies arrive.

The last thing she sees

is the water,

the sun

shining over its blue depths.

Not blue,

she reminds herself,

aquamarine.