Blue Collar vs. The Sea

After the first coconut, you’re already sick of them.

Somewhere at about the two-hundredth or so, you would literally chop off a toe to have all coconuts turn into just regular old clean water ...or sweet tea ...yeah, sweet tea.

I don’t eat the monkeys, I swear! Fish gets gross without Mrs. Dash but-

Hold on, nobody’s going to know what the hell I’m talking about - So, I had a tantrum and ripped some pages out and have to start from here. I been on this island for God knows how long - more than a year - I had a boat - new one, too - I mean, new to me, but used, but anyway.

There isn’t anything special about me at all. When you live on a deserted island, you really get to find that out. About the only smart thing I have to show is that I brought what seems to be the sturdiest little black book in the world and a pair of Target jeans that are definitely not the sturdiest in the world. I’m so glad I stuck a pencil in here instead of a pen, too - gees!

But, hey, you’re not reading this. These words are buried and long gone.

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I woke today to the sound of something snoring, or growling, or puking, or something ...again.

This is a norm, now. It emanates from the volcano-thing (it’s not that stereotypical, desert island volcano that’s all pointy and cool - no, it’s like the dumbest shape ever for a land structure - I got to look at this crap everyday). So, the volcano-thing is in the middle, like all islands, apparently, and it’s big, and then there’s palm trees all around and some rocks and some ponds here and there - basically, it’s Lord of the Flies, but I’m the only child ...only I’m 40 ...maybe I’m Jack ...maybe just Piggy.

Anyway, I’m done - Imma get some fishies.

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Ok, now I’m going to tell you about the monkeys.

That’s right, the monkeys. There are two types on this island: ones that pretend to be your friend and ones that are blatantly not your friend. There’s no mistaking them, either.

Today, I was eating slosh and drinking horse urine (fish and coconut), and this monkey comes up and just plops down next to me. He looks at me like “sup.” So, I pick a chunk of fish off and hand him some, which he takes and eats. We sit for a while and watch the sunset before he chirps and hobbles back into the woods.

I think I like him. I’ll name him Butt Muppet Herf.

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Mega-rain today. This is a usual. Basically, it’s sunny day, then rainy day, over-and-over.

These are not sequential, either. I write in the black book when I feel like it. But, what do you care, you’re not reading this.

Today was different, though. My palm-leaf shelter (yeah, yeah, you’d think I’d have a house by now, but it’s not as easy as in the f-ing movies and I’m not Tom Hanks) crashed on me and I sat out on the shore waiting out the storm. All of a sudden, sometime around late afternoon, I smell this burnt smell. Naturally, I turn to volcano-thing, but there’s nothing going on there. Then, all the monkeys come out of the woods at once onto the shore. It’s bizarre. I know which one is Herf right off the bat (we’ve been hanging out some, you know). He rushes up and holds my hand, which he’s never done before - I know he’s scared of something. The growly sound that I hear some mornings comes on really strong and it doesn’t sound like any volcano on this earth - it’s something alive. Then the smell becomes a putrid, awful smell.

So, we’re all standing there listening to Cthulhu and smelling his farts or something when it just stops. And, the storm stops with it.

Now, I don’t know if that was a coincidence, but WTF?

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It’s been a few days since what we’ll call the incident, and I’ve found the gumption to build a house. I really just want to feel somewhat safe when I sleep - though it may be an illusion, fear is a potent motivator.

So, it’s a two-story, loft-style layout with a mid-sized kitchen, a full bathroom, and sizable deck. Ok, it’s four tree walls and a mud/leaf roof. But hey, it’s waterfront property!

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I’ve learned to make bags out of leaves, and I’ve been stocking them with some sharpened pieces of rock that I gather nearby. Oh, and I made this sort of sling out of woven tree strips and I’ve gotten pretty damn good at launching. Things are looking up and I’m being productive.

Now, to practice.

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Alright, I’ve got a spear, my sling and some ammo, and I’m headed out. Truth be told, I’ve never actually explored this island. I guess it’s normal to get into a habit and flow in the repetition. Oh, and there’s that nasty something growling and brooding in the island - I guess I’ve just felt that I’m good where I am.

If it turns out that I don’t make it back, and there’s some way that Mary see this, I’m sorry.

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Ok.

Not ready yet - God, it’s a day later and I’m still shaking.

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The spear and sling were a trivial bring.

Ok, so here it is.

I gather my things together - even strap some tree to my feet for walking. I get a ways into the woods - there are a lot of monkeys. At first, they’re quiet (or at least their normal quiet, which is not that quiet), but the further toward the middle of the island, the more noise the monkeys start to make. I get to this one clearing and there’s black rock on the ground in a large, circular opening. I immediately notice that there are symbols carved all in the rock - like a bunch of symbols. I’ve never seen anything like it - the rock is light grey underneath the surface, so you can’t miss the carvings. It looks like something that cults mess around with.

I open my mouth and say “Shouldn’t be.”

I’m not even sure why that is what I say, but as soon as I say it, there’s a crack of thunder and a storm comes on - a strong one. I have this terrible feeling of helplessness wash over me and I just want to be far away from this place. So, I run around the perimeter forward - please, don’t ask me what compels me to go further into the woods, I just do. I run for a bit, the rain stinging my face, the mud getting all in my new shoes, the monkeys screaming.

Finally, I reach the end of the woods and the base of volcano-thing. Immediately, the monkeys stop their screeching. It’s like they are saying, “Well, he’s there now, what’s the point in warning him anymore?” I move forward, the rain beating down on me and dark clouds moving overhead like they wish to press down upon the earth. I see a long crack in volcano-thing that leads into a cave. On the ground before this crack are more of those symbols scratched in. I know I should get away now, but I’m stupid and walk closer to the crack. There’s a loud huff and I stop short. I can see movement coming from inside the cave. It’s something quite large. It moves slowly, almost begrudgingly, as if it’s annoyed to have to come greet me. It only comes into a partial view where a beam of light, passing between clouds, can illuminate its face a little. All I see are eyes. I don’t know why, but I count them - seven - seven eyes - I’m looking at a beast that’s looking at me through seven eyes - somewhat human-looking eyes, too. It glares for a moment - don’t ask me how I can tell this, but it seems annoyed in its gaze. It’s like the thing is irritated at greeting me. It stands in arrogance, without motion - like it’s telling me You’re not getting in here where it’s warm and dry, now go back to your broken hovel on the shore and get back to working to survive.

I should run, but I don’t. I should lift my spear or sling, but I drop them both on the ground. I turn away from the beast and walk, yes walk, all the way back to my broken hovel on the shore. When I arrive there, the monkeys have picked apart what was useful, including all the food I’d gathered. Clearly, they did not expect me to return alive.

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It’s been five days since what we’ll call the encounter.

I haven’t fixed my house.

I haven’t eaten hardly anything.

I have no motivation and see no point.

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Herf came to me today. He tried to hold my hand and his rough hand scratched mine, so I pulled away. He ran off back into the woods.

I’m malnourished ...and my pencil is getting short.

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Today was some real BS.

I was sitting there on the beach, not doing a damn thing (like I always do), when I hear cracking of trees behind me. I have little energy, but I get up off the sand and turn. I hadn’t realized that it was really cloudy but no rain, which was an oddity on this island (again, God knows why).

The cracking gets closer and I actually see trees falling over - rather, being pushed over. It’s not a violent gesture, either - more like an ambivalent destroying of nature.

Then, it emerges.

This is the first time I can see the whole of the beast. It is disgusting. Its face is like a hog, with seven eyes on it. Its front lets are like elephants, though its back legs are skinnier than its front. There’s a putrid smell coming off of it, which is likely emanating from the knotted hair trailing from its chin down over its belly. All of the beast is a dark, muddy grey.

I’m too weak to move - too weak to be afraid.

I speak and don’t know why I say what I say, “Won’t work. I don’t care. You’ve taken my reason. I had a home before this!” I’m yelling now, “I had a life and a home!” I’m accusing, “I had a home - I was building a home! I earned it! I earned my home!”

It’s at this point that I get weak and fall.

I’m fading into slumber - I’m writing this now and I can still hear him trudging back to his @$%*&# penthouse. Yes, I’m living with the @$#%*& beast of the Whore of Babylon.

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You won’t believe this shit.

I don’t know how long I’ve slept. Feels like days.

I woke up feeling amazing, like I’d eaten well and been in top physical condition. I sat up and took a deep breath of the salty air I had grown so accustomed to and looked out over the sea. The sun was shining, not a cloud in the sky.

And there it was - a house.

To be clear, it was a house, but it was like Dorothy’s house in The Wizard of Oz after being dumped from a massive tornado.

I’m looking at the thing now and it’s completely useless. I can’t go in the front door, wherever it actually is. I think it was two-story at one time, but it’s now just a mass of house stuff.

I could dig through the thing and find useful materials, but I don’t feel like it. I still have what remains of my hovel and I’m fine. In fact, I think I’ll go back to sleep.

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I woke this morning and saw that the “house” was even more decrepit. I actually laughed at it - for a really long time. As I was laughing, I heard the beast do its growling bit. The whole island shook this time. Now, I’m just finding amusement in the old bastard.

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This morning was different than all the others.

I woke to a red sky and when I looked out over the beach, there were symbols everywhere. Blood was thrashed onto the ground in a circle around where I had slept. Stacked neatly before me were monkey skulls.

This beast is terrible.

I stood and clenched my fists and yelled, “You don’t scare me!”

What I said next, I really can’t account for, “I lived with debt, I lived with uncertainty, I lived with a carrot dangled in front of me all my life for me to just end up here with you. It’s all the same to me, friend!”

Now, I’m angry. And so, so tired all of a sudden.

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Today I learned about life.

When I woke, the sun was shining once again, and the beach was cleared - all except a large chest. I even chuckled at the cliche of a big pirate-looking chest washed up on the shore of a deserted island.

I didn’t open it for some time. I just stared, playing this game where I thought I could guess what was in there without opening it.

Finally, I walked to the box and opened it. There were no words, no laughter, no nothing from me. I just picked up the rolls of bandages, the bags that were marked as vitamins, and began dropping them into the waves running up on the shore. At the bottom of the chest was a stack of plane tickets - yes, plane tickets - to various places all over the world. These were on top of a big stack of cash - I counted twenty-thousand dollars total - just over the amount of debt I still owed on my house.

I kicked the chest over into the water. The beast is just mocking me now.

But I have to live here, I’ll make it my own one way or another and I won’t bow even a moment to some tormenting beast. If I’m going to die in this God-forsaken place, I’m going to do so on my own terms and with whatever’s left of my pride intact.

But, hey, you’re not reading this anyway.