This fucking sucked. Like, omega fucking sucked. Past him was a fucking idiot, and never should've offered to do a double-shift on the beach. Especially since it was now summer, it was three p.m, and there weren't even any hot babes out on the sand. If he'd known he was going to an uninhabited part of the shore he'd be at home, precious beer in hand and the A/C on full blast.

But nooooo. He had to be a good guy. Honorable citizen, hard at work to prove himself to society. It more felt like a show for all the Wingull and Pelipper that kept a careful eye on him, as he bent down to pick up every little piece of plastic or scrap in sight. Sweat poured off his body like a river, and his masked soaked it up like a sponge.

"Two more hours, two more hours," he muttered as he procured a water bottle out of his pocket. Its straw poked through the discreet hole in the mask, and he sucked the succulent juice of the water bottle fruit like a dying man. Cause he was, cause it was very hot. At least they let him wear the swim trunks and wife-beater.

The second he finished, he was jumping into the sea and drowning himself.

"Life sure is a beach-- hehe," he chuckled to himself as the seven-hundredth water bottle entered the massive black trash bag. "Beach. Bitch. Fuck."

This was how people died of heat stroke. 

---

Eris Halla