The beach was empty but for a few scurrying crabs. They hurried back towards the sea as Phela placed her footsteps, leaving little dry prints that quickly refilled with seawater.

It was about half past four, probably. She’d been here long enough that she actually didn’t really know, but the sun had begun to start her descent to the horizon and she thought it would probably be true. She hadn’t thought about time in a while. There were no clocks here, no calendars, just morning, day and night. She thought about how this could be any time at all, at any point in history, and she, the observer, wouldn’t know. There were no buildings to be seen, no floating drinks cans, no swimsuits, sandals, or drones. No cameras, phones, prophets, books, atomisers, sky screws, telangels. No wars, no stone soldiers, no dodos, no dictators, no refugees, no walls, no Tesco. Just Phela, the crabs, and the sea. This could be any time at all.