It had never been articulated but everybody knew the rules well. The criss-cross yellow lines painted on the cement marked the edge of the forbidden zone. Not only for cars. Everybody knew that nobody was allowed to drive or park on those lines but there was a lot more about the yellow at the port that never got spoken. People were also forbidden to walk on them or pause to get a better view of the boats that came and went.
So it was that from a distance I was able to watch the liners and remained jealous of people that were leaving the port. It was something that I knew I would never do. I was born and raised in the area and it was now my home. Even though I found it incredibly trapping there was going to be no escape.
One evening I saw a solitary person drift into the forbidden zone with a similar look of envy to the one I knew I sported. I wanted to cry out a warning, but I was too late to save him from the sinking sands those yellow lines were hiding.
As a seagull, my warning screams were ignored.
Written for Sunday photo fiction