Fly, umbrellas

July, a summer month. In the souvenir shop, there was a cardboard tag hanging ominously from a beach umbrella. The tag had a price marked in euros. A bad omen.

And then the sudden wind arrived at the beach, a hurricane-like wind with a supernatural appearance. The sand flew, blinding the sunbathers, many of whom were struck by flying umbrellas.

The elderly ladies screamed, the children cried, and the parents protected them with their sun lotion-covered bodies. They tried to hug, but due to the tanning oil, their bodies slipped instead of embracing.

And the umbrellas kept hitting the bathers at high speed. Cries of pain were heard, and people were lying on the ground, writhing from the blows.

The wind didn't stop; it continued to the next beach, leaving the same scene. From beach to beach.

And the sky was covered with flying beach umbrellas, all heading toward the sun. Umbrellas that would never return.

Then, everything calmed down.

And on the beaches, people helped each other. Some helped others to stand. The children were comforted with hugs. The elderly ladies were fanned. They dried each other's sun lotion-covered skin to be able to embrace, but by doing this, they left themselves unprotected against the rays.

And the sun, at its midday peak, was going to melt the bathers who no longer had their umbrellas. It was just a matter of time. It was hot, and sweat drops kept pouring out.

And the people went into the water, and the water reluctantly embraced them for the moment.

And the lord of the clouds, who lives next to the souvenir shop, suddenly whistled, and suddenly, the clouds appeared, as if they were pets.

Then, everything calmed down.