He walked across the dusty wooden floor with a slow purpose towards the
outdated and rather foul smelling kitchen. Sunlight illuminated the
depression era eastern facing room, a large wash pan was propped against
the wall by the deteriorating back door. A small table buttressed
against a termite scarred wall with two benches so as to look out the
single paned window into the expansive rear of the property. A boy was
playing fetch with a small hound dog. The corners of his chapped lips
curled ever so slightly as he watched the young boy with his dog. He
walked over to the dilapidated door and gave the pearl circular knob a
turn but it would not budge. Pulling on the door also proved fruitless.
Suddenly, from the south end of the house, the sound of a man and woman
shouting at the top of their lungs could be heard. He made his way back
out into the hall and towards the direction of the shouting. He entered
the south facing room which appeared to be a guest room. There was
nothing but a wooden chair in the corner and the outline of where a bed
apparently used to be. He noticed the belligerent couple shouting in
each others faces, what they were saying was not decipherable. The man
abruptly struck her in the face and she fell to her hands and knees. The
man then presented a revolver from his right overall pocket, pointed it
directly at the woman, and pulled the trigger as the woman pleaded and
cried for mercy. He took the chair from the corner of the room and tried
to smash out the window but to no avail. He noticed the man remove his
farmer’s hat, as his dark thin wisps of hair fluttered freely, put the
barrel of the revolver in his mouth, and pull the trigger. He looked
away quickly.
It was as if he was stuck in some kind of dank
purgatory. A place where he could look out on both the beauty and the
horrors that conscious existence brings. He realized then and there that
that was all life was for every human ever brought in to this world; a
subjective window peering out into a lawless objective universe where we
constantly trick ourselves into thinking that the things we do and the
things we buy and believe somehow will result in a triumph other than an
inevitable lonely meaningless death. So what now for a biological
prisoner in this house of doom for which there is no living escape?
Drip. Drip. Drip. His eyes slowly began to open and the realization that
rain was falling quickly came to him. He felt near death. He lay
destitute on the damp tropical floor. All around and about his
bedraggled body crawled dozens of some species of Hermit crab,
meticulously scanning him as a potential source of food. He slowly rose,
shaking off the pesky crabs. Suddenly remembering his dire need of
fresh water, he clamored about for the coconut shells he had picked up
earlier and ran out of the cover of the tree onto the beach where he
could capture the most rainwater. He collapsed onto the sand and coral
once he had roughly a dozen shells set out. What had made him so deathly
ill? The pooled rainwater in the misshapen tree was the only clear
answer.
Why was he alive and not dead? A question that has
habitually plagued the minds of serious thinkers throughout human
history. If a man’s life is equal to what he has put into it, what then
of the man who contributes naught? Either way, the ending is always the
same, from the most brilliant and philanthropic do-gooder to the most
vile putrid excuse of a “civilized” person. If a god existed, he/she
must surely be the maddest being ever contrived. Why would he/she bless
his/her children with “free will” only to chide them should they choose
to question it? Likely a more ubiquitous view than is ever actually let
on by those who must maintain the hopeful pious exterior.
The rain
began to lessen, his coconut shells were full. Though, clearly he needed
to set up a more thorough system to collect water as this method would
only quench his thirst briefly at best. He guessed the time to be late
afternoon by the way the sun peaked through the passing rain clouds. His
focus was now on food. Luckily, his surroundings abounded with rats and
crustaceans. He drank a fair amount of rain water leaving a few shells
worth left. He carefully carried each shell back into the thick brush
and placed them beneath the large leaves of a Mao plant. Next, he sought
out a few roughly waist length sticks of medium thickness and strength.
Once he had those, he then set about collecting lava rocks about the
size of his fists and slightly larger, which seemed quite plentiful. If
he could bang the rocks together at just the perfect angle, they would
come apart and he could fashion a sharp-edged tool on which to whittle a
good solid wooden spear head.
He managed to block out the
hopelessness of his current mysterious situation by setting about
employing himself as a sort of primitive arms manufacturer. In a sudden
moment of proud accomplishment, much like that of the common man in
modern society who occupies himself with the illusory nine to five daily
workload, he felt as though his triumph in the face of this shitty
predicament somehow meant something on some sort of larger scale. He
produced three needlepoint sharp spears upon which he hoped a few
invasive rodents might die honorably for a higher purpose. But before
that would transpire, a means of rapid oxidation would have to be
concocted. So, much like he had seen in some movie in what he now
considered a past life, he needed to gather some dried leaves and
vegetation from the surrounding green fortress he currently called home.
He amassed a small pile of damp dried leaves and sticks. Being that it
had just rained recently, this fire was going to be more difficult to
start than originally expected. But with the well timed friction created
by furiously rubbing the tough, dried out wood and light bursts of air
from his mouth, he was able to achieve a steady flame. Before long, he
had a nice roaring fire going. There was a primitive pride he felt by
achieving this feat. A feat first performed long long ago by his hominid
ancestors which forever changed the fate of his species. Fire protected
man from the natural predators of the night which waited curiously just
out of reach of the bright licks of firelight. Fire would play host to
countless tribal ceremonies by indigenous peoples worshiping their gods,
celebrating feasts, and preparing for war. But now most importantly,
fire would be used to cook the carcasses of rats and crabs that fell
victim to his sharp wooden spears. Rat meat was exactly as to be
expected; stringy, unfulfilling, and nearly non-existent in between the
tiny bones. The eating was incredibly tedious, trying to suck small
slivers of skin and meat from the bones. But above all, these recent
accomplishments meant that he could remain alive for at least the time
being, until perhaps a ship or airplane were to pass close enough to see
his fire.
Darkness had now completely encompassed the small coral
atoll that lay in the middle of nowhere, like a rogue dwarf planet in an
infinitely dark expanse. He stepped away from his fire out to the beach
of the lagoon, where he gazed up at the innumerable bright specks of
light in the otherwise black sky. The view was astonishing. He had never
in his life been witness to such an area where the pollution from
man-made light dared not exist. Although he was completely alone and
deserted, he felt no more alone than when he was surrounded by people on
a busy city sidewalk. Mindless, thoughtless drones completely ensconced
in their meaningless daily existence. Whether they were to be admired
for their blissfully ignorant state, or abhorred for their involuntary
emotional investment in the fallacy otherwise known as society. He was
alone as he always had been, alone as he always would be; a tragic
victim to an evolutionary crime known as conscious existence.
He
returned fireside to his makeshift camp. He knew his freshwater supply
was in an unimaginably scarce state. But for now, he fed his fire so as
to invest in at least a few hours worth of protection from the intruding
native rats and crabs. Using his flimsy shirt as a pillow, he drifted
off into a troubled, comatose-like slumber.
