Tuesday, 15 July 2008

The Island - Part 5

I reproached myself for jumping to the conclusion that in some way, the red hair was more sinister than if it had been blonde. The connotations were irrelevant as after all, the reality of the situation was far more threatening than some weird childish hang-up. And yet still the image of little Red Riding Hood being lured into the cottage by the wolf kept edging its way into my mind like a fist pushing on the skin of a drum. So where was the wolf? Wearied by the number of unanswered questions, I sat down on the filthy bed. By this point, I was drenched in sweat and resigned to the fact that I must already reek; if I made it back off the island that day, I could take a dip in the water to clean off.

Suddenly, I heard a crackle amongst the low-lying vegetation. I looked down and about six feet in front of me was a huge, black snake slithering along. It didn't appear to be making its way directly towards me but I quickly pulled up my legs, just in case. It paused at the sound of the bed springs creaking and then continued on its journey. Confident that it wasn't interested in me and wanting to keep it that way, I remained still, fixing my attention on the string of muscles rolling along until the end of its tail faded to a dot and became indistinguishable from the shadows thrown by the undergrowth on the earth. Even although I knew it had gone, I couldn’t help looking back to the spot where I’d last seen it, again and again. Hypnotised by the effort to maintain a focus which kept receding, my eyelids grew heavy, weighted by beaded lashes and I must have drifted off. And that was the last thing I remembered of that day.

1 comment:

cheryl63 said...

I like the "fist on a drum" bit!