One Way
Hope●less:
[hohp-lis]
adjective,
providing no hope; beyond optimism or hope; desperate
I looked up from the wrinkled
pages of the dictionary, staring out at the endless water. It was a
sheet of glass, disappearing into the horizon. There was not a soul
to be seen, nor had there been since I washed up on this desolate
little island, so small I could walk its periphery in an hour.
I'd lost track of the days, the
hours I'd sat here on the sand staring out at the water, watching for
something, anything. I was almost out of food, a single coconut left.
I was going to die here. It was
a fact; pure, simple and inescapable. I turned the pages, trailing my
finger along the words.
In●es●cap●a●ble:
[in-uh-skey-puh-buh
l] adjective,
incapable of being escaped, ignored or avoided
The only choice I had left was
how it would end. Would it be slow and pitiful, stretched out over
days, hours, starving slowly until my body shut down, or...
I picked up the mask I'd set in
the sand beside me, slowly turned it over in my hands. Aside from the
dictionary and the coconut, it was the only possession I had. It was
porcelain, with narrow slits for eyes and small painted on lips in
bright crimson, like a doll's mouth. It had flaming red and gold
designs over the forehead and temples that caught the light as I
turned it. It was attached to a long wand decorated with ribbons and
feathers, for holding it to your face during a masquerade. It was a
glittering feather festooned work of the imagination, bought in
Venice in another life to take home and hang on the wall.
The sand was too soft and
powdery where I sat, so I picked up the coconut and carried it with
the mask down closer to the water where the ground was firmer. I set
the mask down, pressed it lightly into the damp sand and raised the
coconut above my head. I brought it down hard on the mask, feeling
the shattering of it beneath my hands as much as hearing it. I picked
through the softly glittering pieces until I found the right one.
I trekked back up the beach and
settled myself under a palm tree, pulling the old, weathered
dictionary onto my lap. The pages were crinkly and wrinkled from the
humidity, slightly yellowed from the touch of too many hands. They
slid through my fingers with a soft rustle as I searched for the
correct page.
When I found it, I nestled the
open dictionary into the sand beside me, placing a stone on each side
to hold it open to the right place.
There was only one way off this
island. Just one.
With a steady hand I drew the
sharp edge of the porcelain down my wrist.
Lib●er●ate:
[lib-uh-reyt]
verb,
to set free, as from imprisonment or bondage
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