Serendipity

One~Not alone anymore

It's been 3 months said the carvings in the winding palm tree. 92 straight lines drawn into it by my pocket knife.
I've learnt many things being here; learning to survive with.. absolutely nothing. I had clothes, a knife and my brain. And an island, filled sporadically with the occasional pig I could jab my knife into. I had built a tree house up in the woods, far off into it but not so far away from water, which I would bathe in. My little civilisation of loneliness was quaint. Not perfect, but not bad.
I didn't mind being alone but at least when I was alone at school, I had things I could satisfy my mind with, books. Books made my mind temporarily dip into a different reality. They made my troubles go away and everyone else I loathed just disappears for a short while. Back at home, I would read often, in my garden. I would dream about home, sometimes I missed it, very much. Mother and father always spoiled me: bought me the best clothes and the best books and sent me to the best school, Sevenoaks.
The school was split into two sides, the girl side and the boy side. I hated both, the girls side was filled with prissy girls as basic as the other with prissy pink bows and frilly skirts and those who held their nose up high. Snobs. Bitches.
The boys side was filled with rowdy cowards, who would only speak mouth about fighting each other but I never saw that happen. Not that I wanted to, I could tell they were awful fighters anyway.
"I bet I could beat them in a round." I giggled to myself, thinking of all the steps I taught myself when I was alone.
My father and mother resented fighting and said that a lady should keep her fingers out of the dirt. No. My fingers were most certainly very dirty.
I fought all the time, but never got into trouble for it. That was like my superpower. I fought girls that were older than me, big beefy girls with tough faces and a stone heart. Me, being only 5'3 with a tiny figure, still able to beat Honey Applestone.
But that was when I was alone. When I was occupied with my teachers or parents, I wasn't even allowed to think about stepping my foot into a 3 inch puddle. I had to recite poem after poem. Which wasn't too bad, and I could remember a few. While on the island, I would occasionally whisper some to myself. The one I liked most was from 'One Sea-side grave' by Christina Rossetti.
I would have to resite these lines day after day, but at least it put something in my mind.

'Unmindful of the roses,
Unmindful of the thorn,
A reaper tired reposes,
Among his gathered corn: So might I, till the morn!

Cold as the cold Decembers,
Past as the days that set,
While only one remembers,
And all the rest forget,
But one remembers yet.'

Besides from poetry, I also had to sew. It's apparently what I was destined to do, my mother had said to me one morning. Her mother, my grandmother, had been a famous designer and wanted to carry her little 'gene' throughout the family. So, my mother started a new generation of fashion and clothing around the world, and reserved me to carry that on for her.
But now I was alone on an island, so that didn't seem as possible.
I was glad.
I wanted to be an author when I grow up one day, and I had started a novel back at home.
One day I would publish a book and get recognised, get thought of. One day.

Today, however, I was going hunting.
This morning was fresh and alive, buzzing with bugs in the wild and the welcoming sweet scent of berries and the salty taste of the ocean filled the air.
"A perfect day for a hunt." I said aloud.
I talked a lot on this island, no one could hear me, so I may as well. I sung also, playing on a piano that had washed up on the island long ago. I knew how to play from the lessons I received from my former music teacher, Ms McDonald. She was an awful woman. Greying hair in a wild bush of curls and her hooded eyes narrowed behind thick circular glasses, fixed in a stare. While I played, I could just feel her cold coffee breath on my shoulder, wafting through my hair.
"You're not playing it right! It's C sharp!"
She would always correct me, not in a nice way.
Awful woman.