Saturday, 23 August 2008

The Island - Part 10 - at last!

Sorry for the delay. It's good to be back writing again. I'm still taking prompts from Sarah Salway and if you visit her blog, you'll see where I'm getting my inspiration from. If I've missed responding to prompts for a while, I like to use a series of those I've missed in one chunk as a fun writing exercise to get me kickstarted. It seems that not having had time to think about writing and wondering where this story can go next is reflected in today's theme! I hope you enjoy reading it.

Whilst the girl slept – or not as the case may have been – I tried to think straight. I tried to imagine what might happen next but each different scenario was more bizarre than the last. This journey that had started out as a fun holiday excursion with my rugby friends had come to a halt, deserted me on this wild island with the strangest, desperate looking people I had ever seen. A vision of my air-conditioned hotel room with its cool, hard tiles underfoot - as opposed to the uneven, warm and damp uncertainty, the way you could suddenly sink deeper without warning – came to mind. I was no longer alone; that was the only certainty. I wanted to keep my bearings. It was absurd to feel that lost. If I had to find my way in a city, I would know exactly what to do. Surely, it was only a matter of using the same approach? Wherever this journey took me next, there would be something in the back seat of the car. A girl, with tufted, red hair, frightened, wounded, malnourished, possibly foreign. Clearly, she was Caucasian. But language? I had no idea. I am no linguist and unless she came from France, communication would be challenging. In fact, even if she was French, our conversation could well be limited to the customary exchanges to be heard in a Paris restaurant.

When she woke up, we'd need to get her wounds sorted out. Bathing in those parts was going to be tricky to say the least. But then so was getting out of there.

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