Armed Men in the Shadows

On one of the swims last week, I noticed a figure on the beach. They didn’t approach, just watched. I assumed they were curious and left it at that.

The next night, after leaving the water, I saw a lone shape on the sand about 200 metres away. At first, it blended into the darkness. As I walked, the moonlight caught it, turning the outline sharp against the wet beach. Whoever it was seemed to be carrying something across their back and walking directly toward me. I wondered if it was the same person as the night before, or someone who hadn’t noticed me yet. It’s not every night you expect a swimmer to appear out of the sea after dark.

Then a second figure appeared behind the first. Then a third. Then more. By the time my eyes adjusted, I realised there weren’t two or three people — there were ten of them, moving in a neat, controlled line, all carrying identical loads.

That was the moment the atmosphere changed.

When I finally crossed their line of approach, I noticed the first man wasn’t holding a stick, he was holding a rifle.

These weren’t night walkers. These were armed men.

They passed in silence, boots sinking into the sand without a word. The moon, almost full, lit them perfectly. On any other night, cloud cover would have hidden them completely.

I stood still while they moved past me one by one, seemingly unaware of my presence. It felt like stumbling into a scene that was already happening, something organised and purposeful, something I wasn’t meant to witness.

I took a single photo, quickly, just to convince myself later that I hadn’t imagined it. I won’t share it here. I don’t know who they were, what they were doing, or why they were there and I’m not interested in giving away locations though I wasn’t expecting to meet ten armed figures on a moonlit beach.

All I know is this:

Sometimes the darkness isn’t empty.Sometimes there are others moving through it with their own reasons, their own burdens, and their own battles.