Ghost Map

And so, he prepared his boat - such a crooked and bruised wooden vessel. He surmised that such a tired thing couldn't even float. Never-the-less, it was all he had. One foot in, then the other, and he shoved himself off. He paddled furiously to get outside of the oncoming waves. Once steady, He forced a look back and shared a stare with the sands. He wasn't sure if he was going away from time or to it.

He said goodbye to what he had called home for some length of time now. He had no idea what 'now' could be. He recollected on the day he had quit scratching lines into the trunk of that palm. He watched himself throw that rock he had used to etch those lines far off into the curling waves, cursing all the while. A sigh escaped him and he looked up to the brilliant stars. His vessel coasted on; it would be morning soon.

He scratched at his beard and his mind spoke, "Look at all that energy. I can see all of these stars pasts, and their past is my present. Yet, all that ancient light is part of my current vision." He brought his view down and scanned the horizon. From here he could see why the world was once thought of as flat. He watched his home slip farther and farther away from him. He thought about returning. However, he understood that would be like turning the hour glass over.

His mind continued, "Judging on the Suns attitude I should've cast off 8 and a half minutes sooner. Blast.." He shook his head a bit, his mind too sloshing back and forth. Being out here was more vacant then back on the island. He knew there he could at least watch the crabs forage along the curtsying shoreline. All he had out here was the water beneath him vying for ownership on his craft. The waves were all fighting over which direction to pull him.

he himself wasn't even sure where he should be going. He decided to start paddling. He didn't want to get caught in the ambit of some current. "Tell me." He spoke aloud, "What is the difference being out here than back there?" He paused to think. "A hope? I could've generated hope back home. The hope someone would come past. The hope for a meal. This...this is like chasing pieces of a dream; like chasing death."

He confided in the ocean and the beauty of the rising sun. "I could die out here and you would all be alright with that! Then I'd have nothing. At least back there...back there I had something! Then again, you're all used to this sort of thing, aren't you? I can't imagine all of the death you've already seen. Enough of this subject. I can't figure out the name of this movement right now."

Morning seeped into afternoon and a thought whispered from his minds lips. He tore the large palm leaf he had been using for shade from his head and peered over the edge of his craft. "There's sand down there." He said aloud, in a fevered tone. "It's no different out here! That island stretches its grasp for me. Far below. It's been swimming in pace this whole time."

He almost tipped his raft upon his realization, upon the strange connectedness that was the water and sands. He came to the conclusion that it did not matter where he was. He was going to head back now. He tightened up his makeshift sail and leaned against the mast. He took a coconut in his hand and after a few blows had himself a drink. The burning breeze licked at his face. Slumber hit him easily and he would dream after some time.



- to be continued