A lone island, blue sky, white clouds, jade sea, sandy beach, seabirds chirping softly...
The waves gently caressed the shore. From the dense thumb-sized holes scattered across the beach, swarms of fingernail-sized crabs crawled out and raced toward the surf as fast as they could.
For these little crabs, the stretch from their burrows to the waves was the first trial of survival in their lives. The mere ten-odd or several dozen meters meant life if they made it into the sea, and death if they failed.
Every day, as the tide began to rise, these tiny crabs seemed to hear the bugle of a charge. They would scramble out of their holes and rush toward the sea ahead and the waves crowned with snowy foam.
Great flocks of red-billed gulls cried excitedly as they pecked at the little crabs on the beach. To the gulls, those crabs that had only just crawled from their burrows were the most sumptuous feast.
Many little crabs never even touched a single drop of seawater from birth to death.
A wave crashed in, and another person appeared on the beach.
The man was soaked to the skin, his hair hanging loose and disheveled. Swaying unsteadily, he crawled out of the sea, casually picking up a seashell from the beach as he rose.
At the sight of a person, the red-billed gulls chasing the little crabs across the beach were startled and took off at once with shrill cries.
The shell flew from the man's hand and struck a red-billed gull. The gull gave a mournful cry and fell, landing right before him. He seized it, viciously tore off its head, then threw back his own head and let the blood spraying from its neck pour into his mouth.
After drinking the blood, the