My Letter To A Friend

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Riddles  |  House: Booksie Classic
A short story telling of a man, who gets stranded on an island, and is sending letters to you, telling of what has happened and what he had done. Or could it stand for something else?

Submitted: January 07, 2015

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Submitted: January 07, 2015

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Dear friend,

I am writing you this letter, to tell you what happened to me in the moments that I was gone, and I know that you are worried, but I am writing this to you telling you what has happened.

I remember waking up on my ship. Wind whistling, howling. Wide awake now, not letting myself fall back asleep. I peared my head out the side of the ship. Noticing nothing more than the sea below me, and the clouds above. Then a sudden jolt. Not hitting something, but something hitting me. I lay spread on the floor of my ship, everything inside now jumbled, and many things broken. Getting up, I noticed a figure above me. The man I would later know to be as Paul. Helping me up, he had told me he witnessed my crash, hitting his Island. We talked as we continued towards his house. Paul, saying he was a hermit, had survived here for many years. We sat for a while, talked, he had given me fresh clothes and food.

I remember, when we were acquainted, we started to watch the days pass, watching his animals grace the hills of the island. I remember every tenth day of the week, we would have great feasts, drinking some of the wine that Paul had made himself, from the grapes he had grown himself. I remember growing very close to that Island. After a while, Paul had passed, but it was not the last I had seen of him. I remember laying their one night, in my bed sat next to Pauls, I remember him whispering to me every night, as I sat their. He would always tell me more of his stories, as he lolled me to sleep with them. He told me about his first arriving here, and how many other people had come here before me, until they had been rescued. The people had come to get them had always asked for Paul to come with them, but Paul had always said that he was needed here on this island.

Another time Paul had told me about the messages, he had left about on the Island, warning many a people about it. Even though this warnings were stood, for everyone to see, yet many people did not heed them. Now Paul was gone from us. Oddly enough, no one else had come back to this Island. Not another soul would show up here. Now that Paul was gone. Oddly enough, I also never felt alone. Paul would always be there, he would always be here. He would whisper to me, telling me stories, or telling me how to tend to his pastures, or his animals. I remember one night, seeing something drawing itself into the ground around me. Glowing light would come from the floor, though I did not get frightened by I, but instead comforted by it. I knew it was Paul, and when I woke, a light was shone into my eyes, then suddenly the drawing would disappear. I remember another night. I dreamed of a car, two of them, meeting together in the middle of the road. Not in a friendly manner. I remember feeling the ground rumble around where they had crashed. Fire would burst from the hood of one car, while sparks launched from the other. Each person in their car, bent over, lying in agony. Unable to be saved. The feeling was familiar.

The next night, I dreamt of the same, except this time, a trolly, not a shopping cart, but a hospital bed. Underwater this time, and surrounded by coins, as if it had been joined by a wishing well. Waking up after, I remember having someone stand over me again, as if examining me, I could not move. I felt as if I was strapped down, and somebody sticking a needle in my arm, and someone cupping their hand over my mouth. Oddly enough I could breath. I felt comfort flush over me, as if someone washed away all of my cares. Suddenly, things went black. I remember watching one night, watching a buoy in the water, waving to each and every one of the waves. Blinking endlessly, as if complimenting the waves. Paul would sit next to me, watching it, tell me, and asking me to continue what he was doing, carving more and more into the island, and asking me to leave his remains on the beach, and let the gulls nest their, so that his body may house, and bring life. I do not question him on this, I would do as he says, but he had never told me where he had died. He had walked the hills of this island, and so had I, but I would not know where his body had laid.

Before I could continue Pauls work, I remember that someone would come to pick me up and take me home. The next morning I would wake at my house. People would come over to me, asking what had happened, and how I had gotten back, some people had said they were afraid I was dead. I remember longing for the island, to be back on its shores, to see the buoy, and to see the waves crash against the shore, and to hear the gulls.

I would try everything within my power to get back to the island. I looked at every map, every star chart, every island off the shore, yet I could not find it. It seemed invisible. No one I would talk to would know anything about this island. I searched and searched, until it almost drove me mad. Then again, we are all already mad, we just don’t know it. The island had revealed this to me. This was the reason that I wanted to go back. The island would always teach me. I would have Paul to whisper to me, and tell me his stories.

Even though I was surrounded by my family and friends, I felt as lonely as ever. The island had always been my friend. Talking to me, letting Paul talk to me. One day I know that I will be able to get back their. When I get there, I will write you again.

 

  -J

 


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