It’s almost time. I climb up the ladder and in through the hatch. I check my calculations on the chart, once again. There’s no need to look through the telescope. The ship won’t be visible for another two hours and eight minutes.
I take a last look around. I have mixed feelings about leaving my Pacific island home. Two years and three months ago my luxury yacht ran aground and sank. I was the only survivor.
Surprisingly, the guilt and loneliness faded after a while. To pass the time, I set myself little challenges and tasks. When the salvaged rations ran out, I had to become self-sufficient anyway. But this island has been good to me, with unlimited fresh water and abundant wildlife for food.
I know the drill, off by heart. It’s a sixty minute walk to Beacon Hill. I’ll light the damp vegetation that’s piled there. It will burn black smoke for the rest of the day. Then, it’s a leisurely walk down to the beach and wait for the little boat they’ll despatch for me.
I sit on the beach until sundown, marvelling at the perfect harmony of the sea and sky.
One of these days, I may actually light that fire. But not yet. I’ll stay in my paradise a little longer.
This is my contribution to Sunday Photo Fiction, 29 December 2013, hosted by Al Forbes. Click here for more details.
To read the other contributions, click the logo.