and this is why I'm not an English major :D
A cool breeze swept across her face, gently waking her from her sleep. She resisted consciousness, content to stay in peaceful slumber, until she could taste the strong salt air on her lips. Only then did she remember the shipwreck. She could still see it in her mind: the proud, mighty vessel sinking slowly into the infinite depths of the ocean. Adrenaline pumping through her veins, she started to stand. She had to decide whether she would try to save them or leave. She had to make her choice-
Wait. Something was wrong.
As the cold breeze continued to bring her to her senses, she could see she was not on a ship or a lifeboat, or even a piece of drift wood. Though the salty wind did come from the ocean surrounding her, the surface beneath her appeared to be solid ground. But how did she get here from the ship? Did the lifeboat land here? Did she wash up on the shore? Unsure if she should believe her sleep-ridden eyes, she grasped at the ground, as if feeling at it with her hands might prove differently than her sense of sight. Among the rough sand, her fingers found an object, hot from lying in the sun. She clutched at it, bringing it closer for further inspection. As her eyes focused on the foreign object, she could see that it was a pair of binoculars. The confusion left her as her memories resurfaced. Holding them up to her eyes, she scanned the horizon for the ship. It had broken long ago, and the pieces had drifted farther out to sea. At this point, she could barely make out the survivors, though all three appeared to be alive on separate pieces of debris. One appeared to have been lost to the sea for a while, but he rose from the wreckage, bruised and scarred. How her heart ached in that moment of uncertainty, just like it had when one of the original four shipmates left to explore southern waters, and when every storm hit, and when the ship first crashed.
She lowered the binoculars again and sighed. In her boredom, she had lost herself in the realm of fantasy. She forgot that she had only been watching the ship from the shore.
She wasn't a stalker. Honestly, she wasn't. She'd been stranded on this island for so long, and few ships came out this far. The chance of rescue was unlikely, and yet this magnificent ship appeared on the horizon. Every day it got closer to her desert island, as if they knew she was here, as if they were coming just for her. She had no way of communicating with them, so she watched them through her binoculars instead. She looked into their lives almost on a daily routine. She laughed with them, cried with them, even talked to them, though they couldn't possibly hear her. She sympathized with their problems and felt their pain. She grew to love them, though all her knowledge came from the images seen through the specialized magnifying glass. In her heart, she just knew one day she'd sail with them away from this solitude. She believed that one day she would belong.
And then tragedy struck.
She still didn't know what exactly caused it. She had looked elsewhere for a moment, and when she turned back, everything had changed. The sky had turned black. Hail was falling from the heavens. And the ship, that beautiful ship where she wished to one day call home, had been torn into pieces, taking every last hope of salvation with it into the unforgiving sea. Luckily, the passengers had survived thus far. They were separated onto different pieces of driftwood, unable to effectively communicate, but still within sight of each other. And within sight of her. If only she could help them, if only she could mend the broken pieces, or even find one piece big enough for them all until a new ship could be built, she would do it. But she knew only three people in the world could possibly save the survivors, and they were all there on those pieces of drift wood. From the island, all she could do was watch.
Watch and pray.
She took one final look at the survivors, sending hope across the waves to these strangers she would never met, then lowered the binoculars. It was time to accept that they could never save her now. They might not even be able to save themselves. The ship had sunk before she even got a chance to belong on it. But there was no use dwelling on that. Brushing the sand from her hands, she let the binoculars lie where they fell.
Her life was still going on, and breakfast wouldn't make itself.
Wait. Something was wrong.
As the cold breeze continued to bring her to her senses, she could see she was not on a ship or a lifeboat, or even a piece of drift wood. Though the salty wind did come from the ocean surrounding her, the surface beneath her appeared to be solid ground. But how did she get here from the ship? Did the lifeboat land here? Did she wash up on the shore? Unsure if she should believe her sleep-ridden eyes, she grasped at the ground, as if feeling at it with her hands might prove differently than her sense of sight. Among the rough sand, her fingers found an object, hot from lying in the sun. She clutched at it, bringing it closer for further inspection. As her eyes focused on the foreign object, she could see that it was a pair of binoculars. The confusion left her as her memories resurfaced. Holding them up to her eyes, she scanned the horizon for the ship. It had broken long ago, and the pieces had drifted farther out to sea. At this point, she could barely make out the survivors, though all three appeared to be alive on separate pieces of debris. One appeared to have been lost to the sea for a while, but he rose from the wreckage, bruised and scarred. How her heart ached in that moment of uncertainty, just like it had when one of the original four shipmates left to explore southern waters, and when every storm hit, and when the ship first crashed.
She lowered the binoculars again and sighed. In her boredom, she had lost herself in the realm of fantasy. She forgot that she had only been watching the ship from the shore.
She wasn't a stalker. Honestly, she wasn't. She'd been stranded on this island for so long, and few ships came out this far. The chance of rescue was unlikely, and yet this magnificent ship appeared on the horizon. Every day it got closer to her desert island, as if they knew she was here, as if they were coming just for her. She had no way of communicating with them, so she watched them through her binoculars instead. She looked into their lives almost on a daily routine. She laughed with them, cried with them, even talked to them, though they couldn't possibly hear her. She sympathized with their problems and felt their pain. She grew to love them, though all her knowledge came from the images seen through the specialized magnifying glass. In her heart, she just knew one day she'd sail with them away from this solitude. She believed that one day she would belong.
And then tragedy struck.
She still didn't know what exactly caused it. She had looked elsewhere for a moment, and when she turned back, everything had changed. The sky had turned black. Hail was falling from the heavens. And the ship, that beautiful ship where she wished to one day call home, had been torn into pieces, taking every last hope of salvation with it into the unforgiving sea. Luckily, the passengers had survived thus far. They were separated onto different pieces of driftwood, unable to effectively communicate, but still within sight of each other. And within sight of her. If only she could help them, if only she could mend the broken pieces, or even find one piece big enough for them all until a new ship could be built, she would do it. But she knew only three people in the world could possibly save the survivors, and they were all there on those pieces of drift wood. From the island, all she could do was watch.
Watch and pray.
She took one final look at the survivors, sending hope across the waves to these strangers she would never met, then lowered the binoculars. It was time to accept that they could never save her now. They might not even be able to save themselves. The ship had sunk before she even got a chance to belong on it. But there was no use dwelling on that. Brushing the sand from her hands, she let the binoculars lie where they fell.
Her life was still going on, and breakfast wouldn't make itself.