The Island

Chapter 1

I once knew this girl. She had hair that was gold as the sun, that glittered whenever she whirled it around. She was the kind that was easily excited, happily carefree. She saw only the world in front of her, looked only with her twinkling eyes and felt only with her soft hands.

I have wondered often what happened to that innocent girl, how she had suddenly disappeared one day and never came back. Perhaps she had been blown away by the wind, beyond grief and sorrow, past the islands that perched on the horizon. Perhaps she had been washed away by the sea, taken to where the fish were, leaving forever the reach of human touch. I remember when that girl had begun to fade, to drift farther and farther from view like a boat departing for the sea. A girl like that did not belong in this world. She would have died long ago.

As my heavy feet thud against the wooden floorboards, I look next to me and am startled by what I see. The sun casts a reflectant glow upon the hull of a ship, and when I gaze upon it, I can see myself, barely visible, but discernibly there. The vision reveals no distinct height nor features, and yet it tells much. On the outside, it is but a figure walking, staring curiously at his reflection.

But through my eyes, with my thumping heart as the guide, I see the truth. A person who is frightened. A girl who does not belong on the docks, who is not supposed to set a toe on the deck of a ship, because that is not what she is destined to do. I see what the girl once was, that cheerful innocent being with eyes that sparkled blue like the sea. Now, I can see where the innocence has left its brutal scar.

It is written all over the reflection.

I peel my eyes away. It amazes me that I should be thinking about my younger self. I have not thought about her for years, have always looked straight in front of me. Unlike that girl, I could see in more directions, could feel with my eyes and see with my hands. I saw possibilities and despair, perceived and foretold my own life without stepping an inch to go find it. But I never looked backwards. If a fisherman looks back, he forgets the dangers in front of him. He will be counting drawn out stars while a wave looms down on him, and he will not realize that he is done until the water hits his back.

So now, when I face the greatest danger of my life, I stun myself because I cannot help but glance back.

In front of me is a completely different picture. In the distance, some summer sun climbs higher and higher over the bowing waves. Flocks of birds float aimlessly about, screeching without a real reason. In front of me is the docks in which several boats reside. They are the personified dreams of the fishermen, who have just begun to congregate under the gathering daylight.

This setting is not new, though. It is the same scene that I have looked at for every past year in my miserable life, at first out of hope, with optimism that could fill the sea, then with frustration, once reality disillusioned my eyes, then again with hope, as I learned what my life had to offer, and then with a crippling sense of despair, like a fisherman lost at sea. They were all a mixture of what I now regard as an unfulfilling life.

But this moment is unlike the others. The difference is that the sea is closer. The difference is that they are my legs that move about among the fishermen. And the boats in front of me, one of them I know is mine, and that thought alone makes the entire horizon look like someone washed it over with fresh paint.

Amidst the intrigue of this new moment, the image of the past dissolves quickly.

From its zenith, the sun glares down, urging us to get on our way. According to the belief of fishermen, it is a good sign that he is so strong. The sun is the guardian who grants passage to seagoers. If he deems a crew unworthy, he will simply turn his head, hiding behind the clouds, and leave us to the cruelties of the devil. If a crew finds his favor, however, he will blaze our path into the waters and unveil all the mysteries of the deep seas.