Summer really is not a season that encourages writing. Firstly, it's almost always too hot! Except for today. The weather is being moody, and it's been chilly for the last two days. Secondly, there is far too much to do in the summer. Who could possibly want to be cooped up inside writing when they could be outside, enjoying the sun and summer activities? I have yet to venture to the beach this year; I'm not much of a beach person anyway. But when you're with some of your favorite people, the beach is pretty cool. Maybe I'll end up going there soon, and then you can hear about my adventures.
Last time I went to the beach, I came back with a story to tell. A very good friend of mine accompanied us to the beach, and then proceeded to wander off on his own, taking pictures, and generally just enjoying himself, by himself. The next time I saw him, he cut the perfect 'castaway' image: white t-shirt under an open, blue button down shirt, jeans rolled up to his knees. It was a perfect image, and I just had to write the story. I never finished it, but maybe you'd like to read what I did end up writing down.
Castaway
By Aimee --
Learning to survive had indeed proved difficult. Although, really, when he thought about it, Laurence had to admit that he had anticipated more trouble finding sustenance. Since his first day on the tiny island he had had little difficulty locating various good things to eat. He could recall quite clearly the first day, the day he had begun his new life as Laurence the castaway. That day remained crystal clear in his memory, although a few details from the night preceding it were foggy at best.
He had woken up, stretched flat on his back on a pristine beach. Why he was there he could not have said, but as his head was aching fit to burst, he assumed it was for no good reason. From the general wooden debris scattered across the sand he deduced that he had been in a shipwreck. The memory of his incident escaped him for the moment, however. Had he been able to concentrate around the pounding ache in his skull, he might have been able to recall the event. As it was, for a few moments after awaking, he simply remained where he was, lying on his back and gazing up into the sky.
“I must be a terribly deep sleeper…” He had murmured to himself after striving to remember waking up the night before. He could call to mind only a memory of getting into bed the previous night, but after that, nothing. Nada. No memory that could possibly have explained the reason behind his awakening on an empty beach.
Eventually he had gotten to his feet and, staggering slightly as his head pounded, explored the shore a bit in each direction. The only reward he received for his efforts was a bit of shade from a single palm tree.
Not one to enjoy being alone, Laurence had taken to speaking aloud to himself. Over time he had developed Anthony, an alter-ego of sorts, merely in order to have someone to converse with in order to pass the time.
He had woken up, stretched flat on his back on a pristine beach. Why he was there he could not have said, but as his head was aching fit to burst, he assumed it was for no good reason. From the general wooden debris scattered across the sand he deduced that he had been in a shipwreck. The memory of his incident escaped him for the moment, however. Had he been able to concentrate around the pounding ache in his skull, he might have been able to recall the event. As it was, for a few moments after awaking, he simply remained where he was, lying on his back and gazing up into the sky.
“I must be a terribly deep sleeper…” He had murmured to himself after striving to remember waking up the night before. He could call to mind only a memory of getting into bed the previous night, but after that, nothing. Nada. No memory that could possibly have explained the reason behind his awakening on an empty beach.
Eventually he had gotten to his feet and, staggering slightly as his head pounded, explored the shore a bit in each direction. The only reward he received for his efforts was a bit of shade from a single palm tree.
Not one to enjoy being alone, Laurence had taken to speaking aloud to himself. Over time he had developed Anthony, an alter-ego of sorts, merely in order to have someone to converse with in order to pass the time.
Since that first day, he had spent as much time as possible erecting shelter and searching for food. And now, here he was, standing several miles inland, contemplating a patch of mushrooms he had just discovered, and discussing them with Anthony.
- Aimee
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