More prints. And still someone with him....

More prints. And still someone with him. Always back to the beach. He can’t keep away. What drags him back time after time? Obsession. You must get him, Mr. Hatch. The fools in this town think they’re safe. No, life’s being worn away. Their bodies are crunched underfoot like sand. This long beach is a stream trickling through god’s hands. Their bones are ground down and fall through the hour-glass. Time runs and the enemy is closer. Quiet, Hatch. Hold your noise. Stop your rant. Follow your victim.

(Hatch takes a few steps towards the body. He stops and looks round.)

Mr. Carson asleep on the beach. Where’s the head? In his hands. That’s it! What confidence, Insolence. Sleeping while he waits for his friends to come out of the sea. This is the quiet place where the sea monsters breed and play and life in the sun. Mr. Hatch, you have him. Careful.

[...]

No blood. Only water. How do I know he’s dead? Surely, surely! (Stabs) There, that’s hard enough. Hack his throat. Cut it! Tear it! Rip it! Slash it! (Stops stabbing. Rambles on quickly to himself) Still no blood! Oh who would have thought of this? Surely they die? Why come here, why do anything, if you’re not afraid of death? Yes. Their worlds’ dying and they’ll die if they stay--they know, they know! Of course they’ll die! Yes--watch and see if they bury him! You can’t bury something that’s still alive. Hide, Mr. Hatch. They’re after you.

Edward Bond. “The Sea”. Plays: 2. London: Methuen Publishing Ltd., 1998. pp.149-150.