The Island. Shipwreck Writing Challenge - Round Two.

I realized there was something wrong with this island when I reached the sandy shores much too soon. I’m a pretty good swimmer. Great, by some standards even, but not that great. It was only a pinprick in the distance and there was simply no way that I could have reached it in the amount of time that it took me to get there.

Stroke, Stroke, Stroke then...sand under my toes. No, no this cannot be right. Like that feeling you get when you miscount the stairs in the night and take an extra STEP onto nothing. Stand still at the top of the stairs for a moment and contemplate reality. What is this existence? Everything I have ever done in this life has led me to this point. This point of not knowing how many gosh darned stairs there are in the house that I’ve lived in for 10 fudging years. Maybe little things like this don’t send everyone off on tangents like this but...well...I’m not everyone.

When I stood on the island I felt this horrible sense of dread. Though I knew certain death was beyond those waves I couldn’t help but feel that certain death had already met me here. That it was like that one friend who only opens up after a few drinks and then you find out they used to kill people for a living. Huh, well now my apocalypse survival team is fully formed but you still can’t but help feel a little uneasy about the guy.

After my initial feelings of straight up skin crawly weirdness wore off I decided on go on land. On the islands land. My salt encrusted clothes were starting to itch and it was better to get the lay of the land before nightfall. I still had many hours but well, no time like the present! And I was hungry!

Invigorated by the prospect of finding sustenance I ventured outward. Walked along the beach all around this island. That took...maybe half an hour? Tiny island, no more than 4 miles all the way around and relatively flat. Reminded me of one of those oh so cute but maybe disabled babies with a weird shaped flat head and a tuft of “only mommy loves me” hair in the middle. Daddy thinks the same thing, he didn’t squeeze you out and isn’t blinded by those bonding chemicals women's bodies secrete after birth so they don’t eat their young. Or something like that.

In the distance I see dark clouds begin to roll across the sky. I tried not to imagine what a beating this island was going to take. And not the good, consensual kind either, the kind that you just have to take because running will leave you much worse.

I headed inland...well as much as I could. Shelter? Minimal. These trees were only barely hanging on. No fruit on them either. No food anywhere. Well darn. I was going to have to live on fish until they rescued me. I would make a net or some fishing line or something. These trees were pretty fibrous, shouldn’t be a huge problem.

Just then a huge gust of cold wind rocked the trees above and the island. The black clouds were close now and I started to feel some panic. Like that impending doom when the teacher is coming to check your homework but you didn’t do it and you have social anxiety and start shaking as soon as you remembered you didn’t do the homework and everyone will think you’re stupid but not as stupid as you think you are so maybe just end it all tonight.

Anyways, given that there was no shelter other than the trees I decided to make nice with one of the bigger ones. I asked first, of course, and when I didn’t get an overtly negative response I wrapped my arms right around the trunk. “You been working out? That’s some nice toning you got there.” As if in answer the tree started swaying with the wind. The groaning that the trunk made as it strained against its roots made me think that my hug wasn’t all that bad. The black was all above us now and I swear I felt the tree lift slightly. Wanting to be in the sky. “Silly tree,” I thought “why would you want to be up there? This is such a nice island...”

This wind was blowing harder and harder, sucking me upwards. I felt like one of those “ain’t got no hope” spiders who hear feel the vibrations from the shop-vac and know that it means death but are hoping...hoping that the wielder of the hungry black tube doesn’t see them. But she does, she always does.

My tree, who I had named Hernandez in the mean time, seemed to want to let go of me. My hands slipped and up, up I went into the black clouds. Dang, it was cold up here...and floaty. Cold and floaty. I chanced a look back down and saw clear blue sky. The storm had dissipated and that island was still far in the distance. Directly below me was thrashing red water. Looked to be a shiver of sharks feasting. It was probably good!

That was when I realized that first foot on the sand must have been my foot on a shark and then my brain took me away, as it does during stressful situations. Thanks, brain! I didn’t want to be down there anyway!

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