A Chapter by Nostalgicc

Survivor story.


The first to notice a body at the edge of the island were the sea gulls that wandered over curiously and pecked at the man’s soaking shirt, which clung to his skin like a web. The man lay face down in the sand, waves lapping over him. The sea gulls tried not to get too close. With their beady black beans of eyes they surveyed him for some time until he finally regained consciousness. Then, they took flight.

            The man opened his eyes and a wave crashed upon him, salt water stinging his pupils, and pouring itself into his gaping mouth. He laid there for some time until he could sense every bone in his body bereft of insomnia, fully awake now, and up to the task. His first attempt at fully lifting himself, with his palms spread on the sand, was a failure at best. Another wave overtook him, and his left palm faltered in stability, his arm crashing upon the sand, granules sticking to his skin, hanging like yellow ants. Some granules so rough, they made imprints. The second time he almost made it but a pain welled up in his stomach. He reached over to grab his belly, and collapsed again.

            The seagulls returned in hope that the man had lost sense of thought again. He managed to get up, this time on his knees. They were perched on boulders lying on the outer skirt of the sand. They mocked him with their glazed eyes for some time and then left. At least ten of them, all in a group.

            He scanned his surroundings. He was on a beach. That part was clear. The water was massive and intimidating, it could kill him if it desired to. It could grab him with its chilly hands and drag him back. Once the sand ended, there were trees, and beyond that more, these gnarled and reaching, and beyond that, he didn’t know. It was an island.

            The man stood up and the sun pelted him with its powerful rays of hot gold. Seagulls squawked and chattered a distance away. If he could speak their language, if they even had a language, he would have yelled at them to shut up.

            Ahead of him, a palm tree. Its long leaves provided some shade, and he knelt down beside the tree, cold from the breeze and hot from the sun. He pulled up his knees across his chest, and wrapped his two arms around his legs like chains. Hair follicles stuck to his forehead irritating him. The seagulls squawked more and flew by overhead in endless circles. The man did his best at ignoring them and trying to face his current situation.

            I’m on an island, somewhere, I’m on an island.        

            He tried to remember anything but he couldn’t. It was as if his brain had constructed a box around it, and then put a lock on that box, concealing all thoughts, memories, and information. Once he decided it was useless to try to remember how he got on the island in the first place, he tried to get his name from the closed box that was his head. Name, name, what’s my god dam name?

            He wasn’t sure if it started with an R o an N. He wasn’t sure if it ended in an R or an N. And he had no clue as to what the letters in between were, or as to how many letters there were, or even if he had a name. The latter was the one he hoped for, but he knew it wasn’t true and would never be. The idea that he didn’t possess a name at all was so joyful and relaxing because it meant that he wouldn’t need to struggle to remember that name. And that was one load off his back.

            R. It certainly began with R. There was no question about that. Strangely, he knew that his name began with a letter between P and T. It wasn’t Q, thank god it wasn’t Q. S was a bit appealing but there was something wrong about it.

            He tried to build off from R, but couldn’t concentrate. All he could hear were the seagulls flapping around, their continuous squawks reverberated in his head. The man yanked at his hair and screamed. His attempts to match the sea gulls noise, try to mask it, were pointless, but he continued until the seagulls became genuinely scared and flapped away.

            Then, an hour later, still next to the tree, below the shade, he remembered the last letter of his first name. D. With that accomplished, a need for sleep overtook him and won.

            R and D, he thought. Not bad, not bad at all.





© 2010 Nostalgicc

Author's Note

Im back to this story after 10 months. Just reedited this first part and wrote the second part, which is not edited.

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Not a bad start. Would like to this expanded upon a bit. Read a little more.

Posted 9 Years Ago

I like it

Posted 9 Years Ago

You've got some good metaphors in here. And the thing with the name is good, too: it opens up a good opportunity for development. Great work :)

Posted 9 Years Ago

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3 Reviews
Added on October 17, 2009
Last Updated on September 11, 2010
Tags: island, water, survival, story, novel, chapter, man, ocean



East coast

Been here since 2007. 20. East Coast. I dig ambient soundscape music and often write while listening to Boards of Canada or Aphex Twin. Don't be afraid to offer serious constructive criticism, .. more..

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