Paradise...
"Brigitte!" I scream with a blind confusion. I drift. Nauseated. Delusional. I now sleep.
There was blood. A mutany. And now I find myself here, marooned. Alone. I brush the sand from my face. Salt can only burn your eyes for so long, and then your eyes begin to just make everything blurry. The waves continue to crash upon the shore. The sun has managed to finally feel warm, as apposed to burning. This is what you get for wanting out of a country I suppose. But there is no sense shedding tears for affairs, for I have to figure my way off this isle. All I have is a piano, this camrea obscura, and the items I had on my person.
So I sit here.
"Welcome aboard," a women's voice shouts. Music plays over a crowded line of people, crates and wailing infants. There were 132 of us. But only one who made any difference to me.
"Do you belive it?! We are actually going! Going to Tahiti." Meet Brigitte. This slim, 20-something with dirty blonde hair, excitedly grabs my arms and says this as we prepare to begin our voyage. She holds up a digital camera as she takes a picture of the audience who sites with us and then one of her and I. She shuffles through a bag, which lies at her feet, to take out a novel by the late Aldous Huxley, Point/Counter-Point.
Point is, she has no idea.
With lightning, comes the shatter of an engine. Screams. People scream everywhere. I hold on to her hand and pull her close. Brigitte cries in fear. We are falling to our end in our death taxi.
I can't see. Brigitte isn't on my arm. I cannot see! I gasp only to pull in a mouth full of water. I swim to the surface only to see shards of metal. I am surrounded by the sharks. Their fins pierce the skin of the sea and it is all to be seen in the stormy air.
I grab hold to what I think is driftwood. The waves continually crash upon my weakened body. I look anywhere I see and shout. The vast surroundings leave me nothing.
"Brigitte!" I shout one last time, as a wave larger then all the others, crashes upon me causing me to lose my grip.
I never knew one could swim unconsciously, until I woke up with blood on my forhead and my face in the sand screaming the last thing I could remember.
A piano is the last of my problems right now, and oddly enough, its still in tune.
There was blood. A mutany. And now I find myself here, marooned. Alone. I brush the sand from my face. Salt can only burn your eyes for so long, and then your eyes begin to just make everything blurry. The waves continue to crash upon the shore. The sun has managed to finally feel warm, as apposed to burning. This is what you get for wanting out of a country I suppose. But there is no sense shedding tears for affairs, for I have to figure my way off this isle. All I have is a piano, this camrea obscura, and the items I had on my person.
So I sit here.
"Welcome aboard," a women's voice shouts. Music plays over a crowded line of people, crates and wailing infants. There were 132 of us. But only one who made any difference to me.
"Do you belive it?! We are actually going! Going to Tahiti." Meet Brigitte. This slim, 20-something with dirty blonde hair, excitedly grabs my arms and says this as we prepare to begin our voyage. She holds up a digital camera as she takes a picture of the audience who sites with us and then one of her and I. She shuffles through a bag, which lies at her feet, to take out a novel by the late Aldous Huxley, Point/Counter-Point.
Point is, she has no idea.
With lightning, comes the shatter of an engine. Screams. People scream everywhere. I hold on to her hand and pull her close. Brigitte cries in fear. We are falling to our end in our death taxi.
I can't see. Brigitte isn't on my arm. I cannot see! I gasp only to pull in a mouth full of water. I swim to the surface only to see shards of metal. I am surrounded by the sharks. Their fins pierce the skin of the sea and it is all to be seen in the stormy air.
I grab hold to what I think is driftwood. The waves continually crash upon my weakened body. I look anywhere I see and shout. The vast surroundings leave me nothing.
"Brigitte!" I shout one last time, as a wave larger then all the others, crashes upon me causing me to lose my grip.
I never knew one could swim unconsciously, until I woke up with blood on my forhead and my face in the sand screaming the last thing I could remember.
A piano is the last of my problems right now, and oddly enough, its still in tune.