The Breathing Game

I

 As the sun went into hiding, the warm, tropical, island nightfall gave birth to a new world. The nocturnal animals of the wilderness reveal themselves finally, after the secession of the burning daylight. The flowers and towering palm trees sway gently to the right, dipping and dipping, indicating the direction of the soft breeze. The surrounding ocean crashes and splashes sporadically, and seagulls make their presence known occasionally. The island insects rest upon the branches and leaves of the bushes and trees, and much of the island is carpeted with forest. The other percent that is not cloaked with forestry, is colored with bright, Caucasian sand, and if a person's lucky, they may find a crab lurking in the soft sediment.

A nearby cricket talks a foreign language to the ears of men, and an owl resting on a branch looks on with a countenance of permanent anger. A field mouse rushes across the sandy floor, kicking up sand in the process. The owl's head swivels quickly, and he hoots with this new epiphany of impending nourishment. The mouse's whiskers tremble and his mouth vibrates as if he's chewing on something, but he's not. His beady, black pupils refract the above moonlight. He is still. The owl is still. They both realize the presence of the other. They both realize the stipulations of a false movement, and neither creature's intention was to fail.

The owl sat stationery on the branch above the mouse. Neither animal wanted to move first, as if they could keep up this charade for the rest of time. The owl continued to hoot, the cricket continued to talk, and the mouse continued to tremble his mouth. For the owl, he had two options. He could catch the cricket easily, but then the mouse would escape, which was a bigger meal. In contrast, if he could catch the mouse, it would be fun to devour the fat, tasty field rodent, but then the cricket would surely get away. Either choice would come equipped with potential consequences. If the owl tried his luck with the cricket, it would be a safely attained meal, but it's not big nor as tasty as the mouse. Nevertheless, the attempt to catch the mouse out in the open would expose the owl to island hawks. The owl moves his head slightly, and his bulging eyes rest upon the cricket. Apparently, he's made his selection. Through the harmonic night air soars the owl. His mouth tugs the garrulous cricket, but he drops him, placing him on the ground next to the mouse. The mouse acknowledges the presence of the cricket by fleeing, and the cricket flees into a patch of grass. The Caribbean Nighthawk soars on the breeze and descends hastily to clutch. His razor-sharp claws impale the hooter, and the hunter becomes the prey. Failure to catch neither creature, nor being eaten was not an option that the owl had considered.

Upon the island floor, grass is rare, but not nonexistent. Sound from the forest is common, as animals and insects in the forest leave their mark audibly in the air. As the surrounding tides toss breezes from its surface onto the island, sand and leaves dance around in whirling circles like little square dancers, and they rest with the secession of the wind just as a winded man does. Upon the return of the breeze, the dancing pattern continues, until the remnants find their way to some sort of obstruction that grounds them.

"Did you hear that? That's a Caribbean Nighthawk! That screech! Gosh I wish I could see him!"

"Max how do you know that's a Caribbean Nighthawk? It could've been an eagle." Says the arrogant oldest child.

"I know it was! I heard that screech on my island adventure video game! It's a Caribbean Nighthawk! I know it is! I know it is! I-"

"Alright you stupid boy! Could you calm down before you wake up some dead guy? Jeez!"

Max turned around and puckered his bottom lip. The moonlight reflected on its wet, pink flesh. He abruptly turned around to the opposite direction of the sea they were admiring and began to run toward their campsite.

"Mom! Sandy called my stupid!" he screamed through the night air.

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Mom! Mom! Sandy called me stupid!"

"You're such a crybaby!"

Max tripped on a low hanging branch, and landed mouth-first in the white sand. He began to sob.

"Max! Max get up! Stop being a loser! You're a boy for goodness sake. Be a man."

"I scraped my knee and it hurts! It hurts!"

"Get off the ground! You're going to get a bug on you."

The sobbing child began to lift himself from the ground slowly, as tears fell from the rims of his eyeglasses. The salty water of his pupils creates globules of dark sediment on the ground, and makes for a rather glorious, involuntary pattern on the cool, night ground. He sniffles, and follows his callous older sister who leads the way. He's now silent.

They tread along in the night darkness, and with each step, warm sand is pumped through the crevices of their toes, and stains the underside of their toenails. The island's sand is so clean and white and pretty. The virgin nature of the island was so majestic to the eyes, and any organism with a sense of emotion should find harmony here on this island.

They reach the campfire on the beach where their parents are residing. The flame dances and waves upward into the night air happily and energetically. The firewood crackles and pops, and the sounds compliment those being offered by the adjacent ocean water. Ryan and Charlotte Shallant sat on a log, roasting marshmallows on the beach. The white sand is encasing their feet and toes. The two descendants approached their nirvana quietly, and sat down beside them.

"Well, you two are finally back huh? Your mother and I didn't think you guys were going to come back. We thought you would go into hiding somewhere on the island so we wouldn't have to leave tomorrow!"

"Dad!" they both said.

"I'm just kidding! We knew you two would come back. We trusted you."

"No not that," Max said. "Why do we have to leave?"

"Well sport, we have to leave. We only reserved this trip for four days. We have to leave tomorrow morning. We can come back next summer. I promise."

"Mom!" Max yelled.

"Your father's right sweetie. We'll be back next year. We have to leave in the morning."

"Great! The connection here sucks eggs," Sandy adds, "It's a pretty relaxing place though, it just gets boring after a while."

"Well at least your father and I enjoyed this vacation. We really needed it."

"I enjoyed it too mom. I really did. I liked the wilderness. I liked the bugs and the trees and the water and the sand and the bugs in the sand and I saw a-"

"Alright champ. Calm down a bit before you blow a gasket."

"Can we go back to the room now? I can't get signal anywhere on this island but there."

"We were just about to head back now."

Ryan arose from theseat and yawned a mighty yawn through the soft, misty night air. Charlotte rose as well and stretched. The family left the fire burning, and retreated to their suite for bed just as the other two families had done earlier.