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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2195729
Rated: E · Short Story · Folklore · #2195729
An unspoiled piece of Paradise is something you may search forever to find.
“Well, here we go again”, said Morley to no one in particular. He was walking on a pathway of crushed shells, and he could see the little cabin a few yards ahead. He could see the agent standing outside, a clipboard in one hand and that salesman’s grin on his face.

“Welcome to a classic piece of Paradise, Mr. Emery”, said the agent. “This is the ‘Kanaloa Cabin’. It sits on the most unspoiled little alcove of Oahu.” Morley looked at the small hut, its roof of thatched palm, a small circle of rocks outside for a cooking fire, and a bare stretch of sand reaching to the narrow secluded beach.

“Kanaloa was the powerful god of the sea hundreds of years ago” the agent continued, “of course, the old beliefs are long gone, but it’s so easy to feel that he really is connected to this tranquil little spot. It’s as if time stands still here”.

Morley stepped past the rental agent and into the doorway of the hut. He didn’t want to, but he was helpless to do anything else. As he passed the smiling little man, he noticed his name tag: Mr. Kanaloa. He stepped across the threshold, and felt the dizziness, as if he had suddenly jarred his head.

He looked, and saw that he was back on the pathway, the little hut ahead of him and the agent standing there smiling. “Well, here we go again” said Morley to no one in particular.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2195729