The Permanence of Longing

Being stranded on a deserted island. Where the only source of food is coconuts and fish. Day after day sinking my teeth into cooked and raw unknown fish; hoping that none of them are the poisonous kind. I have no idea how to build shelter. So I pile leaves and sticks together until it holds up. Maybe it will work. Looks like it won’t.
I cut myself trying to start a fire. The splinters and cuts are getting worse. I always have pieces of wood embedded into my skin at the end of the day. Beads of sweat drip into my eyes and cause my vision to blur and burn. Not that it mattered much, since I lost my glasses in the wreck.
I hope it rains enough to be have lasting freshwater. I need to build something, but I don’t know where to begin. The rain here, is something out of this world. The drops are huge, and when they hit my skin it hurts sometimes. But I guess it is beneficial, if somehow a blueprint of a water capturing device decides to make its way into my head. I will hold onto something more realistic.
I etch another tally into a large rock under a tree where I sleep. I’ve seen this done in various media, so I thought why not? Maybe it will be therapeutic. Maybe smashing my head would be too.
I have not come across many animals. Just the ones from the ocean. Mainly crabs, and obviously, fish. I thought there would be some sort birds nearby, or some type of land mammal. But the grace of another food source has not befallen upon me. Although, I am not so sure I would be able to stare into its eyes and slaughter it. I wonder it think I would be helpless.I sure feel like.
Maybe killing fish is easier, because a lot of them are small. I have not tried cooking crab yet. I wonder if it easy as killing an actual spider.
Coconuts and their water, are sometimes that of heavenly products. I get lazy and usually don’t feel like opening them up, because I am even more parched than when I began. Counter productivity is not something I want to be a part on an island by myself. Trapped. Where the waves are my bars caging in loneliness.
I don’t think I have been keeping up with the days. I can’t remember the last time I drew a tally mark on that rock. I can hear it yelling at me. I picked it up. It was quite heavy and I have grown weaker. I dropped and only the tiniest bit of it, lands on my big toe. Normally, I would have cried out in agony. Or rage into the air. Say a flood of curse words. This time, after the pain besides me, I grit my teeth and head toward the water. I plant myself in the sand and dip my toes in the ocean. The coolness numbs a bit of the pain.
I sat on the shore for a while-staring at the horizon. I am wondering what lies behind me. This unexplored land. Should I be afraid? How much is there? Who knows? The verdant lush is calling to me. I can hear its song. It and the sea play together. The waters plays the instruments. Over and over. Sometimes it is loud and angry. Most of the time it is calm.
I hope one day soon there will be a lull in the sea, where it is so still I can walk on it and run my way home. I feel all the living creatures under the sea are trapped, want to burst and break the surface. Or maybe it is the other way around.
I wrapped my big toe with another for support. I used pieces of clothing I have left over. The pain during the day is sometimes excruciating. The rock is still yelling at me. I yell back. This time it is going in the water. I gave it one big toss and watched it sink. The sounds of it drowning made me smile. It feels good. Maybe I wish it was me instead.
I sat in front of a fire and watched the flames dance with each other. They were happy. They laughed in one another’s ear whispering jokes and sweet words. I hear the wind howling. I have become very talented at extracting the bones of dead fish. I tell them that it is all going to be okay. Their sacrifice was not in vain. That is what I would like to believe.
I’m beginning to forget what I look like. I refuse to look at my reflection in the water. Not being able to recognize my own face is terrifying. I wonder how long it actually has been. Days? Months? Maybe a whole year. I bury the thought. The same way I bury my body, and have the island become my grave. Has it taken other victims. Am I its first? Am I the last? Maybe both.
Does the island hear me? A crab came up to me, with her claws out. I played rock-paper-scissors with her. The crab won every game. She snickers at my defeat and crawls away. Maybe next time.
There is something peaceful about this, and makes me forget the horrors of being alone: At night i sit on the sand and bury my toes. When the water is calm is best. I look at the stars, and I think I have never seen so many at once. The absence of light pollution paints the most wondrous of pictures. The parts of the galaxy are visible. Where the spirals stretch across the sky reaching for something. Maybe it’s me. At times like these, I sit and wonder if someone is looking at the sky, the same time as me wondering if I am still alive. Sometimes, I wonder that too.

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