Page 53 - My Home on the Earth

wind and rain penetrating every crack, he thought. He looked around and quietly murmured:
‘Welcome to your new home, John Collins. We ought to get along nicely.’ Shuffling through debris, he uncovered a pile of buckled metal chairs heaped in a corner and underneath sat a wooden crate, so he dragged it out. Inside, lay sodden boxes of tea bags, sugar cubes and a tin of mouldy biscuits. Tipping them out, he uncovered a blackened metal kettle and two dented saucepans to take back to the shed. The cold damp air sent a shiver through his body so he went outside through the rear of the building.
He stepped out into the sunlight and stood on a wide strip of overgrown land that ended at the base of a stone wall. Beyond the wall, a bay of shiny water rippled over a gravelly pebble beach. A few metres away, a section of the wall had fallen in. Clambering over the pebbles, he stopped at the water’s edge to rinse the kettle and pans and skimmed a few pebbles over the water. Dotted on the horizon, he could see row upon row of moored boats bobbing up and down in the water and above, squawking and wailing seagulls dipped and dived. I wish it was a real beach, he thought, as he walked away.
Back inside the shed, he opened the trolley and peered inside. His stomach rumbled as he pulled out tins of soup; tinned fruit; bread rolls; a tub of cream cheese; chocolate bars; soap and a flannel; toothbrush and paste; a carton of milk; a box of cereals; a comb; a tin opener; two six packs
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