Anywhere but here

How long is a lifetime?

I have counted time in the sun and the stars as they journey across the skies, and in the tides as they call upon the shores, for as long as I have known life. A life I have lived only here, among the dense forest of palms, in the burning sands, aside the rushing fall of water. A life, I know, is coming to an end. It is the home in which my body and soul reside and as it crumbles beneath my feet like a torturously slow-motion avalanche, I can feel my soul crumble with it.

I know very little of the world beyond these waters. The ways of others are unknown to me. I lead a simple existence as the caretaker and sole resident of this island, The Island of Souls, as it was named by the first settlers, my ancestors.

I was born to a small, diminishing tribe that had inhabited the island for countless risings of the moon. As I flourished and others faded, I was taught to forage, to fish and to hunt. I was taught to survive. The lay of the land with its numerous inlets, caverns and clearings had been imprinted in my mind like a map. Wherever I stood I could see the island by the position of the stars, I could never be lost. As the tides rose and fell time and again, my tribe withered away into the nothingness and I was left alone but for the souls they left behind.

They had known the true beauty of the island. It was in more than the tapestry of blues where the sky met the sea. It was in the breath of fruity dew of that lingered softly in the air, in the maze of caves that were like endless, jagged toothed mouths. They chose to build a life that was worthy of the island and it became their home. My home.

Many moons after the last soul of my tribe had passed, a stranger walked ashore, my first encounter with the outside world. It was a young man with a mop of sun-bleached curls and a muscular figure. At first, I hid and watched as he stood still on the beach, one hand on his hip and the other cupped over his eyes to shield from the blinding sun. He had dragged a long, green canoe ashore with him that was resting on the sand. He stayed there for some time, just standing and looking around. I could not determine his intentions from my vantage point. I found myself eager to satisfy my own curiosity so, with sharpened spear in hand, I stepped out cautiously from behind the dense brush.

He spotted me immediately and froze, our eyes were locked in fraught anticipation of one another. Both of us desperately trying to ascertain who was hunter and who was prey. He spotted the weapon in my hand and his eyes briefly darted to the canoe. As I took another step towards him, he dashed towards his vessel. The quickness of his movement triggered my hunter’s instincts. I threw my spear and hit my target. Despite having exchanged no words, the air seemed to fall silent, save for the rush of the rising tide. The spear had penetrated his chest swiftly and cleanly. He was still. I had killed many a beast before but somehow this felt different. I felt a surge through my body, like lightning attacking the waves. My heartbeat had quickened and my skin tingled. My curiosity had not yet been satisfied and I felt compelled to inspect him closer.

I yanked my spear from his lifeless body and rinsed its bloodied head in the water. His eyelids had drooped half-closed on his weather-beaten face. His blistered lips lay slightly parted and a trickle of blood had escaped and was dripping onto the sand. His eyes were strangely beautiful, the colour of the moss that grew on the south side of the mountain. I’d only ever known the brown eyes of my tribe. I felt an odd mix of relief and regret at the passing of his soul. I had been alone here for some time and I had become accustomed to being so, so I was wary of company, but I felt as though I may have liked to have known him.

“Not all people are like us. They do not understand our ways.” My father had warned me when I was young.

He had also taught me to waste nothing, that both life and death were a gift. Once I had rummaged through the man’s effects for any items that could be of use to me, I made a start on building a fire. I recalled with much sentiment, the words of my elders.

“We are all beings from the earth and each of us, be man or beast, must give back what we can when our time comes.”

The gruelling task of hoisting a dead weight up onto the spit was not one I had ever endured alone, but needs must. A man is significantly heavier than a wild hog or large tuna. I turned the spit slowly and with care until the sun sunk down below the horizon. I feasted by the soft glow of moon and fire.

As the rains fell and passed and fell again, I had more visitors to my island, steadily increasing in number and frequency. Some would quietly explore in wonder, unaware of my presence as I followed and observed them in silence, and then leave. But there were others who arrived carrying an evil in their hearts that was present in the hateful scowls on their sun-scorched faces. It was all I could do to protect my home and my own life. The lost souls were more than I could consume. Their bodies were left to rot, tainting the air that I breathed and poisoning the earth upon which I stood. For each man I struck down, the tide would rise a little further, a cave would collapse or a tree would wither into ashes.

I stand now at the water’s edge with gentle waves kissing my toes and empty hands at my sides, ready to sacrifice myself for the sake of my island. I breathe with the rise and fall of the tide as it threatens to swallow my home. I see them on the horizon making their way towards me, their prejudice and ignorance carried on the winds. I know not what will happen to my mortal body once they take me but I have faith that my soul will forever remain with the souls of my tribe, at our home.

I will never know anywhere but here.