The Isle of Bones

It all started a few years ago, one morning as the sun was about to shine on this lush island when the early risers found tons of fish on the shore. Some dying. Some desperately trying to live. They all lied on the shore covered with blood and greenish-black slime. 

The Island Chief came and saw the blood bath. He touched the slime and smelled it. He looked at all the blood-shot eyes of all the dead fish lying on the shore that is enough to feed the islanders for months. 

He gathered all the islanders. There were just about three thousand people on that island including all children. He ordered not to take nor eat any of the fish nor sail out for fishing.  

‘Something is wrong with the water,’ the Island Chief said. The usually crystal-clear turquoise water has turned into a dark green to black. 

‘What are we to eat?’ asked one of the islanders. A man in his mid-thirties with dark curly hair extending to his shoulders, his deep eyes glaring at the Island Chief. His left hand holding the hand of his five-year-old daughter. Standing behind him was a slim woman not more than five feet tall with long straight black hair with brown streaks extending to her waist, breastfeeding a baby boy. ‘The sea is our main source of food and I have a family to feed.’ And then came murmurs from everyone. 

‘The sea has given up enough gifts until now. Let us give it a rest and take the gifts that the land is offering. We have fruits and vegetables waiting to be picked,’ said the Island Chief. His voice deep, his tone positive. ‘Nadee and Imaad will to go into the forest and check what can we get in order to survive until we find out what’s going on with the water and until it is safe for us to go out into the sea again.’ 

The meeting was adjourned and the islanders left, talking to each other. The humming of their voices echoed a negative tune into the wind. 

The Island Chief met with the elders and discussed this unnatural situation.  

‘This has never happened before,’ said one of elderly men, his left molars grinding areca nuts. ‘This could be a course laid upon us by the God of the Sea. We should offer sacrifices.’ The elders started discussing what should be the offer to the God. 

The Island Chief who have been in and out of the Island have seen the world and knew better than the mythological beliefs of the elders. None except him knew the facts but he could not explain anything scientific to anyone who still believe in deities. He would have to choose whether to tell everyone what is going on scientifically and let them think he’s gone mad or keep it to himself and find a solution. But the damage was so huge and he won’t be able to fix this by himself. The only thing he can do is send message to the civilized world outside and wait for them to send help. 

A few evenings later as the Island Chief walked on the shore, thinking about the solution to this catastrophe, he heard helicopter sounds coming closer and closer. Beams of light moving from one side of the island to the other. It went on for about ten to fifteen minutes. 

‘Something’s going on,’ he whispered to himself as the noise and the lights of the helicopters slowly faded into oblivion. 

Nadee and Imaad came back after several days and brought different types of wild fruits and berries. They came with the information as to where the islanders can get fruits and vegetables and edible mushrooms which was some sort of good news that lasted only a few weeks.  

A group of fishermen came and protested. ‘We can’t live like this! We have to get out into the sea!’ A man in his forties raised his voice. 

‘It’s very dangerous,’ the Island Chief answered in a calm demeanor. ‘We don’t know what we are up against. You yourself saw the blood bath.’  

‘Do you think we can keep eating berries and bananas?’ snorted another man.  

‘Look,’ the Island Chief still keeping his calm continued. ‘I warned you about the dangers of going out. But if you insist, suit yourselves.’  

The fishermen weren’t able to say anything. They probably didn’t expect the Island Chief to let them go easily like that. They were in between feeling guilty and confused until the man in his forties raised his voice once again.  

‘Just wait and see until we come back with a bounty. Let’s go men!’ 

The Island Chief shook his head in dismay as he watched the men walk away. They set sail that night and all of them carried out by thirty fishing boats were never found again. 

The women and children lamented with the loss of almost all the men on the island. They came to the Island Chief again and protested.  

‘If you did not let our men go that night, we will not lose them,’ said one chubby lady with thick frizzy hair tied in a bun. 

‘I didn’t allow them. They brought this amongst themselves,’ the Island Chief answered the ladies in yet again, calm demeanour. ‘I will ask Nadee and Imaad to keep harvesting fruits for all,’ he continued trying to give the women some comfort.  

They all left complaining, the humming of their voices echoed a negative tune into the wind. 

Months went on. The Island Chief’s men kept providing fruits and vegetables to the islanders. They even started hunting for birds and wild hens to keep the islanders happy. 

But then the arid months came. People complained about the humidity. There was drought. The sea was slowly disappearing, turning into a dry, cracked land for kilometres and on. The corals that died long ago due to the slimy greenish-black water showed up like a big display of chlorine-soaked branches as the water dried up. The rain did not pour for months and on. The trees stopped bearing fruits. The freshwater coming from the forest also dried out. Dead birds littered the once lush vegetation of the forest. The only living thing that visits the almost dying islanders were vultures.  

The island that was once blue and green is now brown.  

The eyes of the children who were still surviving the ordeal were so round and almost popping out. Their cheeks round and swelling, their skin, yellowish and their stomachs bulge – a clear depiction of malnutrition. 

The surviving women who once protested to the Island Chief don’t even have the energy to walk out of their houses. 

It all started a few years ago, one morning as the sun was about to shine on this lush island when the early risers found tons of fish on the shore. Some dying. Some desperately trying to live. They all lie on the shore covered with blood and greenish-black slime. Now, all that lies on the dry, cracked land that was once touched by white frothy bubbles of the waves rolling up and down the sand, were human bones, scattered, unburied, eyes missing from the skulls, probably pecked out by starving vultures. 

One evening as the Island Chief who were once well built, now sinking into skin and bones, walked on the dry, cracked land, looking at the catastrophe, he heard helicopter sounds coming closer and closer. Beams of light moving from one side of the island to the other. It went on for about ten to fifteen minutes. 

‘Something went on,’ he whispered to himself as the noise and the lights of the helicopters slowly faded into oblivion.