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Rated: · Short Story · Action/Adventure · #1821032
Two friends stuck on an island. Just the beginnig of a story...
He stood on the edge of the cliff, watching the sun set into the endless sea. The colors were beautiful, almost unimaginable. Although it was setting, he could still feel it’s warmth on his weather aged face. The sun appeared as if it were actually being enveloped by the ocean, never to rise again, but instead stay below the horizon.

“That’s sunset number 1,460. Four year anniversary today,” he mumbled. He scratched his elongated beard, let out an exasperated sigh, and sat down next to the dying fire. He reached for another log and tossed it into the flames, causing it to crackle and the fire to rise, illuminating his companions face.

“Counting it just makes it worse Jay, you know that.”

Jay turned to stare at the only friend he had known for eternity it seemed. A look of great annoyance came across his face. “Four years with you on this island, and it still amazes me that I haven’t killed you, or myself for that matter.”

“Well, it looks like we’ll be on this island for a while longer, so plenty of time for you to turn into Jack the Ripper.”

Jay laid his head down onto the grass and closed his eyes, listening to the crackle of the wood as the fire destroyed it. The waves crashing against the cliff below sounded louder at night, and he could even make out the faint sound of a bird somewhere in the trees. He licked his lips, which had become dry from the sea salt air, in an attempt to moisten them. How long had it been since he had actually enjoyed a beer, he wondered. Four years on the island, and he already forgot most of his previous life.

“Jay, do you remember what it was like back home,” his companion asked. Jay startled, he had forgotten his friend was there. It scared him even more that his friend had brought up the question, almost reading his mind. He turned onto his back and attempted to ignore the question, instead choosing to stare up at the numerous stars now appearing in the pitch black sky. “Jay, did you hear me?”


“Obviously you heard me, if you answered.”


“So, we’re going to play that game?”


His friend sighed and moved closer to Jay. “ You can’t be mad at me forever, you know.”

“Try me.”


“Alright, alright. What do you wanna remember?”

Jay was sitting up now, running his hand through his long, coarse hair. He had kept it clean cut back home, all those years ago, but four years on an island had left it long, with traces of leaves and dirt in it. It had once been a sandy brown, but now just appeared black from the soil. His skin was tanned now, appearing leather like in the moonlight. Both his hands and feet were cracked and scarred, from years of working with them. His nails were broken in multiple places, with spots of dried blood on them. His body had become toned and muscular though, and he felt healthier than he had in his previous life.

He was wearing a make-shift loin cloth, fashioned out of the banana leaves found on the island. The clothes he had arrived with were all but destroyed, left with holes in them. He could barely make out in his memory what they had looked like. A dark jacket, he thought, or perhaps a sweater. It seemed to be a dream now, one that he had dreamt long ago, but somehow could not forget.

“What was life back in the town Jay? Do you even remember?” His friend was sitting cross legged now, next to the fire, a childish look on his face, like a school boy on his first day of classes.

“Not much, Dante. I remember car horns, or what I think sounds like a horn, in my memory. There were a lot of cars. A lot of people too. So, so many people. They all seemed to be in a hurry, everyday, no matter the time of day.” What had he done back in the town?

Dante appeared much different than his counterpart. His hair was still somehow short and brown, and only a minor stubble of a beard was on his face. His hands were not as worn out as Jay’s, or as calloused. His body was not as muscular and his skin still maintained it’s paleness from before the island.

“I miss the smells,” Dante said.

“Smells? It always smelled like smoke, or gasoline.”

“Not like this island, huh Jay?”

Jay closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could smell the salt in the air, and as he breathed in heavily it tickled the inside of his throat. The banana trees had a distinct smell to them, almost sweet. Even the sand that they walked on down at the beach was pleasant to him. The flowers on the island were numerous, and the scent they emitted was beautiful to him; it somehow reminded him of a female he knew back in the town, or maybe it was a female he had just quickly brushed by on his way somewhere that had been important at the time. He couldn’t remember anymore.

“No, I suppose not Dante.”

“What about food? Remember food?”

“You mean real food? A cheeseburger with all the works, and a giant soda. Oh, how I miss soda.” He could feel his mouth salivating over the thought of an ice cold soda. For four years now, his diet had consisted mostly of the fish that swam off the shores of the island, and the bunches of bananas. He was so tired of bananas.

“Jay, why don’t you catch lobsters?”

The beautiful thoughts disappeared from his mind as he stared down Dante. “Listen asshole, if you want lobster than catch it yourself! I don’t see why I’m the only one that has to catch food around here, while you stay back at the shack and sit around, twiddling your thumbs all day.”

Dante smiled and said, “that’s not all I do. Sometimes I take a nap.”

Jay erupted and kicked sand into Dante’s face. “Just shut up and go to sleep.” He dropped onto the grassy floor and turned his body away from his annoying friend.

Dante sighed and Jay could hear him lay down on the other side of the fire. “I was only kidding Jay. Just trying to maintain a sense of humor. It’s so hard to stay happy on this island.”

Jay kicked himself on the inside for feeling remorse. “I know Dante, I know.”

“Do you think we’ll ever get off this island Jay?”

Jay opened his eyes and stared at the black ocean that laid before him. “I hope so,” he whispered. Somehow, Dante knew that wasn’t his true answer.
© Copyright 2011 Dustin C. Baker (dbwashere2003 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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