Post by Fletcher on Apr 5, 2007 21:51:43 GMT -5
If your standing in the middle of a featureless expanse of, well, anything, you can see only twelve miles away. If your standing on a hill, the distance in which one can see grows. Standing in a rut makes said distance smaller. This is due to the fact that the earth is indeed round, as Christopher Columbus so boldly pronounced to the world a few hundred years ago. This useless knowledge keeps running through my head as I sit only a few feet above sea level. A few feet above sea, for that matter. And the only thing I can see is water. Twelve miles of water.
The island is small, more of a sandbar than anything. There is nothing useful on it, unless you count a mess of old pillars and stones. No vegetation, no ponds, no nothing.
I read a book, once, about a people who knew they were going to die in twelve hours. I discussed it with my family, wondering, what would they do? What would I do? Its one thing to talk about it. Its another to live it. I'm going to die here. I give myself three days, maybe four if I'm lucky. There isn't any fresh water here; I'm going to die.
I can't cry. Crying would mean losing water, with none to replace it. Instead, I just sit and stare out at a storm that's approaching, twelve miles away.
The sky is boiling with black thunderheads, and lightening ripples from cloud to cloud, sea to cloud. I know water carries lightening; but how far? If a lightening bolt strikes there, then what is the radius of it's power? Imagining being a fish, and being killed by a lightening bolt hundreds of feet away.
The thought makes me smile, the first smile I've cracked since being on this island. I'm surprised at myself. I shouldn't be happy. If this storm is big enough, this whole island is underwater for good.
I'll be the last person to see the stones. The pillars and columns that sprawl in the center of the island. I stand up, dusting sand from my person as I do so. I tear my gaze away from the storm, in the direction of the stones. It isn't far to see. Even near-sighted I can make out details in the stone.
I walk to the center of the mess, feeling like I am intruding somewhere. These stones meant something to someone at some time. I lay down in the center of them, closing my eyes and listening to the sound of thunder striding closer, closer, closer.
When I open my eyes, I'm not alone. The mess of stones is gone. No, that's not right. It isn't gone. It just isn't a mess anymore. I'm standing on a lookout tower, high enough to give me the chills. There's a man standing next to me, gazing at a storm identical to the one that I was gazing at just a few minutes ago.
"Its hitting land, now." He says, his deep and grisly, like a water fall. My jaw drops as I turn my head, looking at a town surrounding the tower. My sandbar is gone. A island, a real island, is in its place. This is how this place must have looked a long time ago, I can feel it in my bones.
"It can't be." I say, standing back up. "There's no land near here." He turns and regards me, a strange but worried look in his eyes.
"Did you hit your head? From where we're standing, land's thirteen miles away on the nose." Thirteen miles. I peer out toward the storm, but I can't see anything. Wordlessly, he hands me a brass telescope. I hold it up to my eye. I can see land. I lower the telescope, looking back at him excitedly.
"That's why this tower is here. So you can keep an eye on land. When there's no storm, you can see it clear, right?"
"Of course. Didn't I tell you that yesterday?" I blink at him in confusion, and its gone. The tower's gone, along with the village and the man. But the telescope is still in my hand. I stare at it, and then nod my head. I'm not going mad. Or maybe I am. But land is thirteen miles away. And I have three, maybe four days to get there. This storm will blow over my island, leaving it reduced, but not gone, just as storms have done for hundreds of years. And, the tower has let me keep an eye on the mainland, just as it has done for hundreds of years.
(I'd appreciate some feedback, if you please. I'm having some ending issues, so ideas there would be extremely welcome
)
The island is small, more of a sandbar than anything. There is nothing useful on it, unless you count a mess of old pillars and stones. No vegetation, no ponds, no nothing.
I read a book, once, about a people who knew they were going to die in twelve hours. I discussed it with my family, wondering, what would they do? What would I do? Its one thing to talk about it. Its another to live it. I'm going to die here. I give myself three days, maybe four if I'm lucky. There isn't any fresh water here; I'm going to die.
I can't cry. Crying would mean losing water, with none to replace it. Instead, I just sit and stare out at a storm that's approaching, twelve miles away.
The sky is boiling with black thunderheads, and lightening ripples from cloud to cloud, sea to cloud. I know water carries lightening; but how far? If a lightening bolt strikes there, then what is the radius of it's power? Imagining being a fish, and being killed by a lightening bolt hundreds of feet away.
The thought makes me smile, the first smile I've cracked since being on this island. I'm surprised at myself. I shouldn't be happy. If this storm is big enough, this whole island is underwater for good.
I'll be the last person to see the stones. The pillars and columns that sprawl in the center of the island. I stand up, dusting sand from my person as I do so. I tear my gaze away from the storm, in the direction of the stones. It isn't far to see. Even near-sighted I can make out details in the stone.
I walk to the center of the mess, feeling like I am intruding somewhere. These stones meant something to someone at some time. I lay down in the center of them, closing my eyes and listening to the sound of thunder striding closer, closer, closer.
When I open my eyes, I'm not alone. The mess of stones is gone. No, that's not right. It isn't gone. It just isn't a mess anymore. I'm standing on a lookout tower, high enough to give me the chills. There's a man standing next to me, gazing at a storm identical to the one that I was gazing at just a few minutes ago.
"Its hitting land, now." He says, his deep and grisly, like a water fall. My jaw drops as I turn my head, looking at a town surrounding the tower. My sandbar is gone. A island, a real island, is in its place. This is how this place must have looked a long time ago, I can feel it in my bones.
"It can't be." I say, standing back up. "There's no land near here." He turns and regards me, a strange but worried look in his eyes.
"Did you hit your head? From where we're standing, land's thirteen miles away on the nose." Thirteen miles. I peer out toward the storm, but I can't see anything. Wordlessly, he hands me a brass telescope. I hold it up to my eye. I can see land. I lower the telescope, looking back at him excitedly.
"That's why this tower is here. So you can keep an eye on land. When there's no storm, you can see it clear, right?"
"Of course. Didn't I tell you that yesterday?" I blink at him in confusion, and its gone. The tower's gone, along with the village and the man. But the telescope is still in my hand. I stare at it, and then nod my head. I'm not going mad. Or maybe I am. But land is thirteen miles away. And I have three, maybe four days to get there. This storm will blow over my island, leaving it reduced, but not gone, just as storms have done for hundreds of years. And, the tower has let me keep an eye on the mainland, just as it has done for hundreds of years.
(I'd appreciate some feedback, if you please. I'm having some ending issues, so ideas there would be extremely welcome
)