Light pours between my eyelids as I slowly open them to reveal a milky blue sky so pale as to be almost white. As I begin to stir I realize I’m laying in gentle green grass, almost cotton like in it’s softness. I’ve never seen grass like this before in my life. Surely it’s never seen a blade before. How did I end up here? Searching my mind I can’t bring anything to sharp focus. It’s as if everything up until this very moment is a blur. I’m not even sure who I am.
Sitting up, my eyes take in the view before me. Lush grass descends a gentle slope in front of me ending in a stony beach and crystal blue waters. There’s something odd about the water; nothing I can put my finger on but something just a little bit off. Maybe it’s way it’s so quiet and still despite it’s oceanic size, maybe it’s the way it simply melts into the sky, giving no clearly discernible horizon. Perhaps it’s just that everything is too right.
As I stand I realize the beach curves round to my periphery, disappearing behind verdant foliage. Am I on an island? With a stretch of my legs I set out towards the beach to investigate, marveling at the almost surreal appearance of everything as I go. I’ve never seen an island so beautiful or a day so perfect; bright and sunny, yet not so much as to hurt my eyes. And not a cloud to be seen. The beach looks familiar, like something from my childhood, or a book I’ve half forgotten. It’s littered with stones and rocks of varying sizes and shapes. It forms a band along the shore like a belt to hold the rest of the island in.
I stand and stare for a while, mesmerized by the scene laid out around me. Alas, it’s time to set out, I should at least try to see how big this island is, or if there’s anyone else on it. A stone clatters under my feet setting something scurrying away just out of my line of vision. I turn around to see a shadow flit away into the trees.
As I walk down the beach I am overcome with an odd sensation, everything seems so familiar, yet in a whitewashed, almost too perfect kind of way. Where am I? And almost as important, how did I get here. I feel like I’ve been here before perhaps. I crouch down and look to the rocks for clues. They’re all perfectly smooth and oddly shaped. I select a nice even shaped one, almost looks like a child’s toy ball, and skip it off into the water. As it keeps going, I almost feel regret at having thrown it away, but how? It’s only a rock. As I ponder my situation, I notice the less direct attention I apply the more familiar the rocks seem to be shaped. I spot one that looks like a car but the closer I get, the more it appears to be nothing at all. And that one, it looks like a TV, or is it just a trick of the light? Shaking the thoughts from my head I continue on my walk, aware ever so slightly of being followed. Turning around I could swear something darted into the bushes but the only evidence that anything was even there is what looks like a wet paw print on a flat rock.
After what feels like an hour and yet only a few seconds I round a clump of trees to see a path leading up the hill, a sure sign there must be life on this island. I give one long look behind me and start up the path. At the top of the hill I see what looks like a run down light house. I notice the grass is longer on the way up the hill and the trees thicker and more aged. The trees at the waters edge where mere saplings but the farther up the hill I got the older they became.
So too does the path vary, becoming at times a mouse trail and at other timed paved with stones smiling up at me though the dirt with all the best intentions. The thought crosses my mind, who built this? And why am I here? The notion is quickly swept aside when I spot a glint of light just off the path. It appears something is stuck in the split of two branches on that tree. I venture off the path to investigate and find myself at the foot of a mighty oak. About 10 feet up I can see something glittering, perched tantalizingly out of reach on a flat part of the branch; a key. Looking back I can barely make out the path through the grass and decided to make a climb for what ever is up there.
I round the tree looking for a place to begin my ascent. About half a foot above my outstretched arms is a nice sturdy looking branch, thick and strong. I steady myself and make a jump for it, wrapping my arms around and trying to pull myself up. Suddenly the branch gives a sickening creak then shatters at it’s base. As I tumble head over heals I see termites scatter from where the branch has broken off. It appears I made a rather foolish decision.
Expecting to hit solid earth I pass right though, shattering an ages old well cover shrouded in decades of moss. I fall endlessly into the darkness within before coming to land on a pile of dirt and debris from similar misadventures long past. Looking up from my position on the rough floor I can swear I see a silhouette of a cat, looking down the hole I made. Clearing the mist from my mind I bring eyes to focus to see that nothing is there. Did I imagine it? Am I imagining all of this? Surveying my surroundings I see I’m in the dark. Dust and cobwebs abound. It feels very much like I’m in a medieval dungeon. How old is this place? It must be ancient. At the end of a tunnel to my right I hear what sounds like whispers of a conversation. Reluctantly I lift myself from the floor to see who’s there and if they can help me. Before I proceed I cast a rueful look back at what has brought me to this spot, and indulge myself with a wish that I’d stayed on the path rather than wander into to the grass.
As I cautiously proceed I am bombarded with thoughts, images, flashes of memories, or are they imaginings of the future? It’s as if every bad decision I’ve ever made has chosen now to come flooding back to me. I guess an ancient cellar is a good place for it. The shadows seem to take on a life of their own, stretching and wiggling; dancing their way through my imagination; haunting my thoughts with the wrongs of the world. What a god forsaken place this is.
As I reach the end of the tunnel the whispers resolve into steady breaths, the wind on a hole in the ceiling. I can see the outline of a cracked trap door above me and the light peaking through it’s cracks. I hastily climb up the rickety ladder to what I hope is my salvation and push open the heavy door. Climbing through I can see I’m in what would appear to be the lighthouse keepers house. My thought slip once more into the past, to the man who must once have lived here and his noble cause now long since abandon.
All that’s left are the walls and a few scraps of the ceiling. This entire structure is in desperate need of repair. I am surprised to see pictures and personal effects strewn about. The light keeper must have left in a hurry. One picture in particular attracts my attention. It’s a portrait of a family, oddly distant yet barely familiar. The one figure appears to have been scratched out by some small, clawed animal.
As I exit the house I can see the water again. Going on forever but with a small dock visible between the trees. Oh the trees. Old does not begin to describe this part of my island. The trees look almost wrinkled, and have the appearance of being hunched over as if they’re having difficulty supporting their own weight. A swish and a scamper betray that I am not alone. I half glimpse what looks like a tail disappearing into the underbrush.
I set out towards the dock but this looks to be the toughest part yet. The ground is soft, I sink a little bit with each step. The path is overgrown and the sky obscured by twisted branches. As I proceed the trees seem to tighten on me, catching on my clothing. My watch chain snags causing it and my watch to fall into the soft mud. My coat becomes torn and tangled. I trip and lose a shoe to the soft, sucking mud. The other shoe only causes me to loose balance. It is discarded as well. Strangely, as I lighten my load the path becomes less resistant. With each piece of myself I shed the looser the branches become, the more visible the sky and the closer the water. Finally when I am stripped to my essentials I emerge next to the dock and see a tiny rowboat awaiting me. Looking back I see the whole island behind me, seemingly leading to this point.
As I climb into the row boat it occurs to me that whoever was lying in the grass when I awoke is still there, I am a different person now. Lighter, less intense, free of the things that held me back. I feel like I’ve spent days on the island, but could it have been more than a few hours? How do I know? Time feels like it’s standing still, waiting for me to catch up. And I still don’t know how I got here, but maybe I know why.
Silently I row myself away, towards the hazy horizon wondering what is to come, and what to make of what has passed. Maybe it means something, maybe it means nothing at all. Oh well. It was an adventure.
While the boat slides across the waves, farther and farther from shore, four black paws walk out on to the dock. The cat watches the boat drifting towards the distance before turning back towards the island. He’ll catch up someday.