Photo: Copyright Al Forbes 2013
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.
Walk the Self-Talk 