The Island

His time on the island had lasted a millennium.  The plants in that place grew colorful, tasty fruit, that left his body in crippled knots for weeks.  He hadn’t a clue how the two men managed to discover him, but he wasn’t thinking too much about it at the time.  The ship had left the desolate shore and he was sailing back towards the place he knew as home.  The mist had cleared by now, and he could see land on the horizon, across the turquoise waters. 

            The ship knocked against the sandy shore.  The sand was a warm, golden hue under the bright, shining sun.  He planted both feet in the sand, feeling the heat rise up his legs and fill his chest cavity with tingling warmth.  He was met by everyone’s smiling faces.  All of his friends were there to greet him.  His wife and two daughters came running over. They threw their arms around him and squeezed so tight that he toppled over.  Next, they all started laughing and rolling around, sand flying in his eyes and mouth as he belted out laughter and tears.  He wondered if he was feeling joy for the first time.  Then, the sand started to tickle his throat.  Still laughing, he began to cough.  The coughing turned to hacking, and he wasn’t able to catch his breath.  He felt a sensation beginning to fester, as if sand was being shoveled down his throat.  He reached out for his loved ones, but when he grasped his daughter’s hand, she felt rough and dry and cold.  All of a sudden, his surroundings grew pitch black.  At that moment, he realized that he was bitter cold.   He recalled the dirt being piled on top of him, weighing him down into the thick, grimy earth.  They left him there, until he smelled the ripeness of his own rotting flesh.  He felt the insects eating away until there was nothing left but bone.  Then he started feeling itchy, all over.