by David Birchall

Created on: June 19, 2008

I don't how I got here, or why. I don't when I arrived, or for how long this has gone on. All I know is that I am here, on this very small island. Alone.

Lately I have surmised that I arrived by boat. The more I think about it the more I believe it to be true. Perhaps it is not, though, it probably doesn't matter anyway.

The island, as I have said, is small. So small that sometimes I dwarf it, though it definitely expands at times, so much so that cannot see from one end to the other. It is neither hot nor cold, but when the island grows I feel a sharp breeze. When it contracts I am stifled by the muggy closeness.

Some days I lie all day on the beach for what seems like years, and the sun never sets. Other days it sets and rises over and over until all I can do is bury my head and whimper like frightened dog. Lately these days have grow rarer. Some days time evens sinks back into regular, safe rhythm, and I can begin to believe an escape could be planned. Often these times flee from advances as soon as I notice them, galloping into the distance to be replaced by myriad movements just outside my vision. I turn my head on way, then around and see nothing, but they are there.

Only once have I seen an animal. A bird flying overhead in long circles. I stared but I don't think it liked that, it swooped into my face and hung there. Of course, I was scared, I tried to push it away but it was heavy, and its deep feathers seemed to swallow my hands. Then it left, I don't know how or why, and it never returned.

Sometimes the ocean laps around my feet, comfortingly. But as soon as I recognise the pleasurable feeling it laps harder and harder, instantly consuming me. Every time it does I know I could escape but I never do and soon I am swept into the ocean for what seems like eternity, cavorting in the waves, drowning and splashing and screaming, until I wake up back on the island.

Soon I will escape, more and more I awake with passionate, intelligent thoughts of escape. I am sure that escape is possible, until the island traps me again. I could escape if only the island would free me for long enough.

The way to escape is up, I decide. Up that tree that wasn't there yesterday and will be gone as soon as I turn away. I begin. I am momentarily sane. The climb is so easy it's as though the tree needs me, it's pushing me up and up. The brown, scaled trunk feels like satin. Up and up I go, into the clouds, the land below is gone now, only this tree is left.

I will be free of this island soon.

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