Scoga and The Island In The Waters Of Time ––– Part 1: The Island

Part 1 : The Island

An island loomed on the horizon. A small island, probably only a mile long. It was ringed by a rocky beach, with dark forests looming just beyond. It was hard to tell, because the sun was sinking.

A seagull cried. I had to row my boat in just a little farther. “Just 5 more strokes,” I kept telling myself, and I said that over and over until finally I reached the shore. I crawled up on the rocks and lay flat on its cold surface. I hoped there would be food and a spring near. I was starving. I wished the cruise ship had never sunk, that the lifeboat had never run out of gas, and that I was back at home drinking a hot cup of apple cider.

The howl of a wolf startled me out of my half conscious state. I was back on that island. Out in the middle of the sea. A wolf. That meant, for me, run for the nearest tree and climb it. I dragged the lifeboat up on the shore as quickly as I could and ran for the trees. Luckily, there was a big old white pine that I could easily climb. I went up and up and up until I was almost to the top. There, I hung on grimly to a branch and hoped the howling gusts of salty sea-wind wouldn't blow me away.

The next morning I got down from the tree and decided to explore. In my case, it was the only natural thing to do. The forest was lit only by the occasional beam of sunlight finding its way through the dark treetops. I felt my stomach grumble in protest. Food. No, water. My common sense corrected me. I was hoping there would be a creek, or at least a scummy pond. Then the branches that obstructed my view suddenly released me from their piney grasp and I was in a sunny clearing. I decided that this was a good place to set up camp once I found water. Plenty of good trees to climb in case of danger as well. I had to remember the way back.

I then set off again with my morale a little bit higher than before. After an hour or so of wanderings, I found, well, a scummy pond. Frogs croaked in the bunches of cattails that clustered around the edges. However, there was a clear spot, probably where deer and wolves (or whatever lived on this island) came to drink. I began lapping thirstily from the edge. Once my thirst was quenched, I noticed some berries growing on a bush. They looked like thimbleberries. I am not a big fan of thimbleberries, but it was something. As I ate, a squirrel began chattering, scolding, perhaps, her children. I have always wondered what squirrels would say if they could talk.

All of a sudden I heard a noise. I turned around and came face to face with a with a human.