I have lost count of the days that I have been here. They are just notch marks on the branches that make the walls of the hut I built. And I built that a fair few notches ago. The only life I have seen in all that time has been seagulls and fish and they don’t say much.
The waves sliding over the sand and the breeze dancing in the trees are the only sounds I know now. Not even the growl of an aeroplane as it leaves a white trail in the sky. At least that would break up the monotonous blue of the sunny days. Little fluffy white clouds don’t seem to visit. The only break is the angry storm clouds that throw down sheets of rain with the sky so dark it could be night, well it could be I doubt if I would know sometimes.
I shouldn’t complain as the rain keeps the stream near my base camp hut flowing and gives me a supply of fresh clean water to drink and pools of fish to catch for a meal. I have coconuts and fruit ready supply too.
In many ways, it was the life I had dreamed about back so many notches ago and I lived in the big city. I dreamed of living away from the chaos and noise of the city. I wanted to live with nature. I wanted to avoid the gangs that gathered threateningly on a Friday and Saturday night making it unsafe to go out after dark.
To be honest I don’t recall how I got here. It just seemed like one morning I woke up to find myself stretched out on the beach with a throbbing headache and a dried gash on my forehead. Other than that I have no clues and I had no choice but to get on with survival. As far as I was aware no one knew I was here or that I was presumably missing.
It was a peaceful existence until this morning. I woke up in my hut and all seemed normal enough. I headed out to the beach for a swim – well one must try and keep clean. The tide was high and, on the turn. The water was refreshing and cool.
After my swim, I waded back to the shore and then I saw it. In the damp sand left by the retreating sand were neatly carved letters. I stared at it and watched as more was revealed. It read ‘Are you ready to come home yet?’
©JG Farmer 2019