The Island - A Short Story by John Lee
Archive 🌱 Grass

The Island Pt. 4

Read Part Three

 

The experience of memory carried him until reality bled into the scenery. Sunrays lanced through the forest roof, and his steps became easier. The air thinned. Fin hardly noticed the transition. Reality was rarely worth participating in, but he thought this was the exception.

He pawed both arms up to the sky with a cat-stretch, and trotted over to the pool that surrounded the miniature island which held his Tree. He squatted down to catch his breath and take a drink. He cupped his hands and splashed water on his face. Something about this water was so pure it made the rainwater he collected taste dry in comparison. As he knelt the ripples calmed. What he saw didn’t make him gasp with shock, or even surprise him. Two grey eyes stared back at him, a patchy beard that hadn’t grown in right covered his sun-tanned face. It was only curious, he had a very different picture of how he looked in his head. The figure looking back at him had lost weight too. No surprise there, he thought to himself.

There was something about the reflection though that was off. It made him uncomfortable and he shifted on his knees, the auburn clay stuck to his legs. He didn’t remember looking so old. The mental image was there now, and he couldn’t help but feel it. His eyes had dark sacs beneath them, and his hair looked brittle. Up until now, he’d at least thought it was brown, but the island’s sun left it bleached. He sat there for a long time. Looking at the not-quite old man rippling in the water, but not the same person he’d remembered, either. Eventually he managed to hoist his head up, and look towards his Tree.

It rested on its own little island on the top of the summit. Surrounded by the pure moat. It was like the island had poured out all of its less desirable parts and shoved them away to make this one perfect clearing. This place reminded him of the crystals that you’d expect to find in an underground cave, except someone had taken this cave, and turned it inside out, dumping the crystal’s across the water’s surface. A steady breeze made its way across the summit. The warm sun washed over him, some deep inner-lizard was basking in the homeostasis of perfect climate. He wondered why he hadn’t built his house up here. The hole in the roof punctured his mind. He snapped himself out of it, trying to focus on where he was. In a brutal moment of honesty, he admitted he had no intention of fixing it.

His eyes wandered out to the center of the spring. There it was, the island within an island. A little slice of serenity tucked away from everything else, just for him. He had no title for it, he supposed it didn’t matter. He was here. If there ever was such a thing as paradise, this was it.

The Tree was rooted into the center of the island-ette. Taller than he remembered, and once again he was swept away by it. A little bendy, but all in all it had still determined which way was “up” and got going in the right direction. Fin admired that.

Way, way up top, seated among the catacomb of branches was his favorite fruit. His mouth watered.

Needing no further coaxing, he got up and splashed towards the tree. His ragged clothes soaked up the cool water and his skin shivered. He felt his problems washing off of him like stubborn dirt. It wasn’t quite the same without Leaf.

Now came the climb. Every complicated deviation of branch from the mountain sized trunk spoke volumes to him. He was actually having fun. In that moment he realized he respected it. It was a living piece of wonder.

 

The climb up the tree was long.

The climb up the tree was hard.

The climb up the tree was a great adventure.

 

Before he’d realized it he had made his way to the upper-echelon of its far reaching branches, and swung his leg over. His back firmly planted against the trunk of his old friend, and his breath was stolen away. He could see everything. White gulls circling in the sky, swooping and diving and squawking. The ocean shimmered like the most expensive sapphire. He watched the crests of gigantic waves rolling far off the shoreline, farther than he’d ever hoped to see from his hut. It scared him a little. All that power, rolling towards the beach he slept on every night. Tall and strong. Unyielding. Then he’d watch them relinquish that power, and gently touch the face of the shore. Gracefully foaming up, and carrying more sand out to sea.

What he’d climbed all the way up here for was not the view, well, not only the view.  He stretched his arm out and plucked one of the golden fruits off a branch just above him. Here it was. Tossing it up and down in his hand, he closed his eyes and let all the problems in the world melt into nothing. Sea salt mixed with the pine air carried itself all the way up to him, itt was a smell so pure he could taste it.

He thought of Leaf and smiled. He hoped she was doing well. Up here, everything just felt right. The wolves, nothing more than a member of the forest, friends to share it with. The tree hallows… interesting, peculiar, but nothing to fear. Not even their whispers could reach him up here. Plumes of smoke coming from dinner-time fires rose up. Fin smiled, and thought maybe he would try to give the others another try. Straw huts dotted the circumference of the beach, he could see its slow bend curving around and behind to meet itself on the other end. Laughter filled the air, seemingly lifted all the way up to his ears. He was nothing but smiles now, maybe the weird-translucent people weren’t such a bad bunch after all.

Then it hit him. It crashed into him like a ton of bricks being dropped onto his skull. He remembered that he couldn’t remember his name. But. It wasn’t Fin. Far from Fin indeed.

He peeled the fruit, and took a bite.

And with that: He forgot again. He forgot all the things he was trying to remember. Everything didn’t just feel right. Everything was right.

It occurred to him that there must be more. That there must be more to his existence than this island. That his aged, dirty face did not mark the beginning of his end. In the simplest of moments, that old-safe with the manila folder, deep, deep, within the bowels of his mind was gone. Never to return. Fin threw away the key.

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