Adrift

The island was always eerily silent, save for the lapping of the waves that curled over the sand and then returned to the ocean. It was those very waves were driving him mad.

He had been stuck here for so long that the waves felt more enemy than friend. A constant reminder that he was stuck on this small piece of land with little vegetation and caged in by the deep blue water on all sides.

There was no way out, he was almost sure of it.

His stomach ached and his throat was parched for a drink of proper water. Not the handful of slurps he got when it rained or what he could suck and wring from his shirt in the days following.

He was desperate for a way to survive this island. Waiting until someone would rescue him and bring him to the light at the end of the tunnel, but the light was growing dimmer and dimmer with each passing day.

No boats had passed since he had first washed up on this forsaken chunk of land. He wondered if he had somehow ended up on some bizarre hidden island where nobody would ever find him and he’d be left to die.

Alone and in pain on this deathly still and silent isle.

Swallowing his nerves and desperation, the man turned to the ocean once again, eyes scanning the horizon. It had been weeks, the markings on a nearby tree his only way of counting the days that passed as he searched for rescue. The more time went by, the more delirious he became. He truly feared there was no way out of this place.

He blinked. Rubbed his eyes. Was he imagining things or was that light shining brightly as hope sparked and filled his tired body with energy he thought he’d never experience again?

There was a sailboat on the horizon.

His lungs pinched as he screamed louder than he ever had before in his life, his throat burning as he desperately waved his arms around and even jumped, trying to catch the sailors attention.

He begged and implored for them to notice him, to come to his aid, to release him from whatever personal cage this island had become. He screamed for help until his throat felt like it was on fire and he could taste blood, over and over again. Yet, the sailboat carried on, becoming smaller and smaller until it finally disappeared behind the horizon.

The sand kicked up as the man fell to his knees, eyes wide with disbelief and he opened his mouth to shout once again but found he couldn’t. It pained him too much, he’d screamed himself mute. Water, he thought, I need water.

The light at the end of the tunnel that was so brilliant only moment ago grew weaker and fainter until it was once more but a tiny speck. The man clenched his hands into fists and beat the sand with rigid, pathetic movements as he took his fury and bitterness out on it.

How could they not have noticed him? He had cried so loudly! How was it even possible for them to ignore his pleas?

When his arms grew tired and his knuckles were bruised, skin torn and scarlet, the man gave up his resentment and turned to the sky instead. He prayed to any god, any celestial being that may be out there to help him. He’d do anything if they’d just let him make it home.

When the sky refused to answer him, the man let himself fall backwards and sprawled out onto the sand, eyes closing as he let the heavy weight of hopelessness wash over him.

It had always been there, it just never had been as heavy as it was now. It weighed down on every one of his limbs and left him without reason. No belief in a purpose that should make him get up. Despondent now, the man drifted in and out of consciousness.

The sun rose again, blinding and so hot, it made his kmskin itch and that’s what roused him. The man pursed his lips as he accepted that he was never going to get out of here. He was going to rot on this island that caged him in and silenced his pleas for help as if he were but a bug caught in a Venus fly trap.

An island of haunting silence. This was to be his gravestone and he would die alone, to be taken into its embrace and never seen or heard from again.