Creative fun in
the palm of your hand.
Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2130230
by Naveed
Rated: E · Fiction · Comedy · #2130230
What happens when smarts meet average?
Word Count: 999

I’d have slept till eternity, unconscious, if it hadn’t been for the wretched stench of sea-food growing on my nostrils. I felt the soft sand underneath my body, as I eased into my senses. I was surprised at how the sand was, both, dry and wet at the same time—mushy yet comfortable. My eyes fluttered unwillingly, for they didn’t wish to be brought to the realization of the surroundings that encompassed them. Strange how I didn’t need any sensory aid to know where I was!

I got up, still reeling from the effects of God knows what and saw for myself what my guts had known all along—I was stuck! God...why are my guts always right? There I stood—a man with a torn t-shirt and wet pants—on a small piece of land under the scorching sun, greeted by the sight of water in whichever direction I faced. The fact that I had no sunblock made the matters even worse , for I had a case of sensitive skin and my body had already begun to itch. What made the situation unbearable was my tender heart that could not bear the sight of sunburned skin. It didn’t look good on me, that’s all. I stood facing the land now, expecting it to be a paradise, like the ones they show in movies. But I was horrified to find...nothing. Absolutely nothing! I was greeted by a sight of barren terrain that was a few hundred meters in circumference, at most. My dreams of a life as Tarzan, eating fruits, talking to animals, diving in clear water and marrying an island princess were broken as soon as they had been formed. The gravity of the situation made be depressed and desperate at the same time.

“Hellooooo! Is anybody out there?” I screamed out of desperation, even though I already knew the answer. My scream was to make the scenario more dramatic, rather than for practical reasons.

“You don’t have to scream, you idiot! What’s with you kids these days?” a man, sitting on a boulder right next to me replied.

I jumped up, almost startled to death. “Where...How...” was all that I could muster up to the man, who looked almost a hundred years old and had hair springing out of everywhere—even his ears—except for the top of his head of course. The unkempt hair at the back of his head formed waves, that were scattered like the rays of the sun—in every direction imaginable. I’d have laughed, if I hadn’t been petrified of course.

“Quit babbling boy! Is that the way to talk to the smartest man ever?” the man replied, egoistically.

“So you’re Einstein, huh? And where’s this? The black hole?” I mocked.

“No, this is not the black hole, imbecile,” he shouted. “Actually, I’ve never really wondered where this place is. Better get to work!” he added.

And so, Einstein spent the next four hours playing with calculus, geometry, astronomy, nerd-o-nomy, dork-o-logy and any other dumb discipline you could think of. He kept on mumbling to himself and writing stuff down on the sand with his index finger. I was awed at the numskull for not knowing the name of the country in which his deserted island was situated. And he called himself the smartest man ever! Awe was soon replaced by laughter as I pinned jokes on the poor state of the dimwit. It was fun while it lasted, but I soon got bored of that too and decided to sit by the sea and just stare at it. I was lost in thought, contemplating if mermaids could be found in the depths of the oceans or not.

The sun had almost set when the numskull suddenly shouted, “We are 24 degrees north of the eastern coast of the Atlantic, 2251 miles away from the western lighthouse built in the southern colony.” I couldn't fathom a word. He was not only a numskull, but a sorry apologetic as well, trying to hide his failures using nonsense. He was a darn good liar, I’ll give him that for he could lie with confidence.

I could have said it to his face, but I needed to get out of that place. So I asked, “Do any planes fly over wherever this place is, mister?” I tried to be respectful for I needed a good answer. This was serious business now.

“Yes, once daily.” Einstein informed.

“Perfect!” I thought, for I had a flare-gun in my back pocket. “I can use this to signal an airplane for help,” I grinned.

But before that could happen the next morning, I had to pass the entire night with Einstein. “I could sure use some pie right now, you know what I mean?” I said around midnight, yawning.

“I can serve some right here. The value of pie is 3.1428571...” he went on and on. I listened for about two minutes but then fell asleep. His recital served as a nice tune to lull me to sleep, I’ll give him that.

I was awoken the next morning by the roaring sound of an airplane. There it was, my ticket to sanity. I picked up the flare-gun and fired it upwards...but nothing came out of it. My smile changed into a frown instantly.

“Why isn’t this piece of crap working?” I roared.

“Oh that old thing? I used it up last night to study the effect of gravity on projectiles after I got bored of pi,” Einstein replied.

I felt the ground slipping under my feet, as my limbs went numb. I wanted to get my hands wrapped around the numskull's throat, naturally, but I didn't see the point of it. So, I laughed out loud, in disbelief, and fell to the ground, in a heap, as my feet gave in to the jitters. My laughter ceased, however, as the dread of my fate grew on me.

“Why is the sand, both, dry and wet at the same time?” I asked, blankly.

“Relativity!” Einstein replied, smiling.
© Copyright 2017 Naveed (naveedsk at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2130230