Owen stood at the top of the cliff, looking out over the view. The early morning wind tussled with his dark hair before dancing out towards the ocean, which crashed on the rocks beneath him. Both of his hands were stuck in the pockets of his black cargo trousers, which had lots of pockets he liked to keep useful things in. The breeze was strong, and the world was bright; it was the perfect time for a walk.
He let out a deep breath, and began to clamber down to the beach.
Secluded and difficult to access, the beach was Owen's safe place - somewhere no-one else knew, or at least were brave enough to climb down the cliff to get there. It was smaller than the neighbouring coves, and located in a town called Kircliffe in the middle of nowhere. That was where Owen lived with his older sister.
He fought his way through thick bushes that had grown around the base of the tree halfway down the cliff. For a moment, time stood still as he reached out slowly to touch a carving his dad had drawn on the tree when he was younger, then he shook the sad feeling off and began to climb.
Powerful and elegant, this tree had stood in place since it was the tiniest of saplings, even as the ground eroded beneath it. A strong branch extended downwards, enabling somebody to clamber down to the cove more easily. It truly was a majestic tree; Owen had named it Sir Bob Bark.
He clung to the branch and lowered himself onto a large rock that had fallen from the headland, taking a moment to admire the familiar view of Summernear Cove.
Owen had climbed down the rightmost headland, directly opposite an old smuggler's cave which had been bricked up before he was born. His dad used to say pirate treasure was stuck in there and younger Owen had been obsessed with getting in; he hadn't succeeded. There was a rocky area close to the cliff, but it soon faded to fine sand. Calmly, waves rolled into the cove, and just as a particularly strong wave died away, a glint in the sand caught the boy's eye.
It looked like a bottle, or a can. Had someone been here, and littered in his cove?
Jumping off the rock, which was only about a metre high, the fourteen-year-old landed with two feet in the sand, and began to jog towards the object.
Confused, he crouched, grabbed it and brushed the sand off of it.
He stood up, gazing at the object in his hand.
He spoke aloud, "What the hell?"
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