Dihydrogen Monoxide

As I felt my head break the surface of the water, I gasped for air, my lungs convulsing profusely in an attempt to suck in as much oxygen as possible. I staggered to the shore where my face hit the ground, my chest shaking uncontrollably. Only after what felt like an hour of lying on the hot sand with the sun beating down on my back, my lungs trying to relearn what breathing was, could I finally start to make sense of my surroundings. Barely able to raise my head, I looked around the environment that I had somehow come to find myself in. Fine, white sand and large boulders decked the barren landscape. The air was thick with the summer heat, making it feel as if I was trying to inhale molasses. I attempted to drag myself up to a stand, my weak legs proving about as useful as a pair of brittle twigs. I turned around to face the mass of water that had by some miracle failed to consume me. The now gentle waves lapped against the shore, almost mockingly.

I wiped the back of my hand against my mouth, attempting, in vain, to prevent an excessive consumption of the microscopic sand grains which were ruthless in sticking to every surface of my body. I could taste the minuscule rocky particles as they danced around my teeth, resisting my every effort to rid myself of their presence. It might have been my imagination, but I could have sworn the sand tasted sweet, almost like granulated sugar. I suddenly became overwhelmingly dizzy, stumbling onto my hands and knees. My facial features contorted intensely as the hot sand seared tiny holes into my skin. But even as the sun blared down on my naked body, I knew that night would fall quickly. Even in my delirium, I was fully aware that unless I was willing to accept hypothermia or having my flesh ripped apart by whatever wild animals roamed this island, some form of shelter would be necessary. Even so, my limbs resisted the commands my half-alive brain attempted to issue, and I remained lying limp on the sand. In my frustration, I could almost feel my brain trying to rip away from my body and escape the useless lump of flesh to which it was so unfairly confined. I drifted in and out of consciousness, my body hanging on by a thread after fighting the ruthless ocean for more hours than I could count.

The human brain is a strange entity, especially in a state such as mine. I was somehow still aware of my existence, despite simultaneously knowing that I had no control over my body. It was an odd sort of consciousness, one in which I was more of an observer of my own being than I was a part of it. Time seemed to become bent, and my eyeballs did somersaults behind the curtains of my eyelids. I could feel my extremities becoming increasingly scorched by the blistering heat, the sun dehydrating my skin to a crisp like a slice of bread in the toaster. In my strange purgatorial state, not quite awake but conscious enough to know it, I was forced to watch my mind wander, as if imprisoned in a movie theatre. Images and events from throughout my life flashed in my mind so rapidly that my brain’s impatience became apparent. What was all this supposed to mean? What was I, in my half-alive state, supposed to be realizing? The specificity of the snippets I was seeing indicated that this was more than the random purge of information I first thought it to be. I felt my heart rate increase as I relived my life against my will, overwhelmed by the realization that I was no longer in control of my own mind.

I awoke violently when a wave of icy water washed over my face, seemingly with a vicious intent. I gasped for air, choking on the salty sea water as I staggered away from the shore. It took me a moment to realize that I had returned to full consciousness. I was in worse condition than before, falling over myself as I attempted to walk. My mind was overflowing with a mass of frenzied thoughts, all trying to reach the forefront of my attention like a mob of people simultaneously trying to squeeze through the same narrow doorway. Night had come, and I was unprepared. I knew my chances of surviving until sunrise were slim, even in my half-conscious, confused state. With no particular destination, I eventually gave up trying to walk and let myself fall back to the ground, which was now cool in the absence of the scorching sunlight. I rolled onto my back, my breathing surprisingly heavy. For the first time since all this began, I contemplated how I had managed to end up here, half alive and alone on a deserted island in who knows what region of the globe. My thoughts returned to the strange series of events I had been shown in my half-conscious sleep. What did they mean? And what profound realization was I supposed to be having? 

Amidst my confusion, I was surprised to find myself overcome with a sense of peacefulness. I was aware of the fact that I would probably never live to see another sunrise and felt stupid for cursing the light while I had it. I knew that the prospect of returning to my normal life, in which my biggest concerns were comparatively meaningless, was highly unlikely. Mostly, though, I thought about the person I had become and everyone I had ever interacted with. How would I be remembered? Would I be remembered at all? And what were all those images supposed to mean? It was strange to think that the world would continue long after my heart stopped beating. Lying there on the cool sand that night, I let my brain become absorbed by odd thoughts such as these as I gazed into the sky. There was no way of knowing, but I wondered if the stars clouding my field of vision were some form of hallucination or if they really existed. I felt my eyes close, but I could still see the shimmering dots as I drifted into sleep.