Happy Birthday, Polly O'Keefe
I walked down the beach near Shari's Dock -- near where I first materialized on the Island -- feeling conflicted. I'd been lucky since coming here, but it was a strange luck. I'd found friends. I'd found my parents and made them my friends. But all of this didn't alter the fact that I was a prisoner here, on an Island that could change my age or sex on a whim. Sure, it had unceremoniously dropped over a dozen fascinating leather-bound books in my hut for me to translate, but what else could it do?
All of this was thrown into perspective by the fact that today was my birthday. I was eighteen. Old enough to vote. Old enough to drink in Quebec (not that I'd planned to, but still it was nice that the opportunity existed). And as I thought of all of the things I expected to be doing when I reached this landmark, finding myself stuck on a tropical island wasn't anywhere on the list. Happy birthday to me.
Still, the temperature was fine and the sun was out. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and the breezes off the ocean surf were cool. It was hard to keep a bad mood in this weather, especially since there had been snow on the ground so recently. So, I took off my shoes and carried them as I walked down the beach, feeling the hot sand in my toes. I tried not to think about Sean, or vanished Lucy, or other painful thoughts.
That's when a pain shot through the soul of my foot. I jerked up with a shout, and brought my foot, only to have the pain jab me again. I shrieked, and it became a dance of agony as every step I took planted my foot on something hard and sharp. I fell over, and felt the hard teeth bite into my arm, then I rolled, _finally_ feeling sand. Then I could look up, groaning as the various wounds started to throb, and took stock. I could see where I'd stepped, danced and rolled, because there was blood on the sand. Actually, it wasn't sand. It was--
My breath caught, then quickened. Shells. Crushed shells. Stretching down on a wide path in a too-familiar curve to the water's edge.
...I ran up the long drive, hardly realizing I had on only my nightgown. The crushed shells hurt my feet but did not slow me down. My nightgown was drenched and clung to my body. I felt a sharp pain in my foot...
The house wasn't here. Only the drive. What the heck was the drive doing here? What--
I tried to stand, but collapsed when my foot gave out from under me. It left a footprint of blood in the sand. I clutched my leg and tried not to cry. "I'm going to need help."
[[The text in italics is a quote from Madeleine L'Engle's A House Like a Lotus. Find Polly on the beach near Shari's Dock. Despite the shock, it's not a bad time to meet her, especially if you're willing to help her to the clinic.]]
All of this was thrown into perspective by the fact that today was my birthday. I was eighteen. Old enough to vote. Old enough to drink in Quebec (not that I'd planned to, but still it was nice that the opportunity existed). And as I thought of all of the things I expected to be doing when I reached this landmark, finding myself stuck on a tropical island wasn't anywhere on the list. Happy birthday to me.
Still, the temperature was fine and the sun was out. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and the breezes off the ocean surf were cool. It was hard to keep a bad mood in this weather, especially since there had been snow on the ground so recently. So, I took off my shoes and carried them as I walked down the beach, feeling the hot sand in my toes. I tried not to think about Sean, or vanished Lucy, or other painful thoughts.
That's when a pain shot through the soul of my foot. I jerked up with a shout, and brought my foot, only to have the pain jab me again. I shrieked, and it became a dance of agony as every step I took planted my foot on something hard and sharp. I fell over, and felt the hard teeth bite into my arm, then I rolled, _finally_ feeling sand. Then I could look up, groaning as the various wounds started to throb, and took stock. I could see where I'd stepped, danced and rolled, because there was blood on the sand. Actually, it wasn't sand. It was--
My breath caught, then quickened. Shells. Crushed shells. Stretching down on a wide path in a too-familiar curve to the water's edge.
...I ran up the long drive, hardly realizing I had on only my nightgown. The crushed shells hurt my feet but did not slow me down. My nightgown was drenched and clung to my body. I felt a sharp pain in my foot...
The house wasn't here. Only the drive. What the heck was the drive doing here? What--
I tried to stand, but collapsed when my foot gave out from under me. It left a footprint of blood in the sand. I clutched my leg and tried not to cry. "I'm going to need help."
[[The text in italics is a quote from Madeleine L'Engle's A House Like a Lotus. Find Polly on the beach near Shari's Dock. Despite the shock, it's not a bad time to meet her, especially if you're willing to help her to the clinic.]]