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Anonymous Posted 19 years ago
Knowing there would be no perceivable way for him to find me here, I roamed the desolate beach of Shoal in Anguilla, without so much as a single worry. A wave of divine consciousness had swept over me shortly after I went into hiding some many years ago, one in which I had experience before, or had I? I guess when a man is up, he doesn’t know what it’s like to be down, and visa versa. But that was irrelevant to me at the time, as was everything, for I was the never-ending envy of their hearts desire, the wave that didn’t break for the shark, the lone ray of hope, and I was determined to remain as such. Did feelings of doubt ever cross my mind? Rarely. Were they there? Yes. And it was that seed of doubt, though appearing harmless on the outside, that picked me up and threw me off the cliff in which I had once perceived as a permanent place of residence.
Awakening in my bamboo hut the following morning, I could not help but notice the powerful ocean, which seemed to rule my train of thought for the next hour or two. There I sat, staring into the ocean, wondering what it had in store for me. You see, a nights rest had persuaded me that he was near, so in my current state, escape was the only feasible option.
Unfortunately, my ship fell victim to a small band of African pirates who stole her the summer before. But they didn’t stop there; they also scoured the small island for me, but I was smarter than they, spending three days and nights atop a giant coconut tree.
When they finally left, I was nearly dead, my bones left looking like a fancy knife set, but I was alive nonetheless.
The week following the raid was when the first hint of doubt surfaced in my forsaken brain. However, I was still strong and managed to shrug it off. But you can only escape the grasp on death so many times, and like any other man, I was soon hooked – my reality had changed. I gazed at a significantly larger island to my east, one which could allow for safe hiding and maybe even, if I were to get extremely lucky, a change of mind. I could only sense of one problem: distance.
This island was good four miles away, and I simply did not have enough confidence in my mediocre at best swimming ability to cross the large body, not to mention the amount of blacktip sharks that I had regularly seeing paroling the open sea. I walked down to the shoreline, my face enjoying the gentle breeze, and picked up a bizarre colored seashell, like none I had ever seen before. One side was black – the other red. As I threw the shell upwards, I told myself that the red side spelled jump, and the black side spelled swim. Needless to say, black hit the ground. I was emotionless. The following afternoon I would find myself halfway between the two adjacent islands.
I guess I, the lost and confused spirit, the spec of dust in the vast, unforgiving ocean, had finally outdone myself. I was good mile away from the land of hope, my arms burning as if a group of Fire Ants had taken kindly to them, yet I drudged on, unsure of my future, not caring enough to worry. Would I make it? Probably not.
Some will think I’m lying, while others will call me a lair, but I swear to you a dolphin, pure and righteous in her cunning beauty, saved me that fateful afternoon, just as I was about to go under for good. She swiftly glided up from the depths and presented me her dorsal fin. Unsure of what to do – I didn’t feel worthy in the dolphin’s presence – I gave her a warm smile and told her that I didn’t want to cause her any trouble, but she said “nonsense,” so I cupped my hand around her fin as she gave me a ride to my new home, a place where he surly wouldn’t find me.
Surviving two years on that island wasn’t easy, but I managed, building an entirely new bamboo hut to prove it, a bamboo hut that was buried deep, at least a mile, within the dense forest; and although I hadn’t felt like I did a few years back, I was content, living life in no big hurry, yet still worrying about him in the back of my mind.
When I rose one morning – what must have been September, according to my of-and-on calculations – I was greeted with a thump against the side of my skull, my head spinning as if in a were cartoon, I instinctively reached for my knife, fear pulsing through my veins, and stabbed whatever had just stabbed me. I felt my bamboo spear rib through flesh, but I couldn’t see what I had it, for my vision was still tainted.
I felt like running; I really did, but I didn’t run. Instead, I held my ground, firm and commanding. When my vision returned, I looked on at the motionless man lying before me, a spear through his temple, and was surprised I had finally done it. I had finally killed myself.
Essay & Composition Writing
Could someone please revise this for grammar
Knowing there would be no perceivable way for him to find me here, I roamed the desolate beach of Shoal in Anguilla, without so much as a single worry. A wave of divine consciousness had swept over me shortly after I went into hiding some many years ago, one in which I had experience before, or had I? I guess when a man is up, he doesn’t know what it’s like to be down, and visa versa. But that was irrelevant to me at the time, as was everything, for I was the never-ending envy of their hearts desire, the wave that didn’t break for the shark, the lone ray of hope, and I was determined to remain as such. Did feelings of doubt ever cross my mind? Rarely. Were they there? Yes. And it was that seed of doubt, though appearing harmless on the outside, that picked me up and threw me off the cliff in which I had once perceived as a permanent place of residence.
Awakening in my bamboo hut the following morning, I could not help but notice the powerful ocean, which seemed to rule my train of thought for the next hour or two. There I sat, staring into the ocean, wondering what it had in store for me. You see, a nights rest had persuaded me that he was near, so in my current state, escape was the only feasible option.
Unfortunately, my ship fell victim to a small band of African pirates who stole her the summer before. But they didn’t stop there; they also scoured the small island for me, but I was smarter than they, spending three days and nights atop a giant coconut tree.
When they finally left, I was nearly dead, my bones left looking like a fancy knife set, but I was alive nonetheless.
The week following the raid was when the first hint of doubt surfaced in my forsaken brain. However, I was still strong and managed to shrug it off. But you can only escape the grasp on death so many times, and like any other man, I was soon hooked – my reality had changed. I gazed at a significantly larger island to my east, one which could allow for safe hiding and maybe even, if I were to get extremely lucky, a change of mind. I could only sense of one problem: distance.
This island was good four miles away, and I simply did not have enough confidence in my mediocre at best swimming ability to cross the large body, not to mention the amount of blacktip sharks that I had regularly seeing paroling the open sea. I walked down to the shoreline, my face enjoying the gentle breeze, and picked up a bizarre colored seashell, like none I had ever seen before. One side was black – the other red. As I threw the shell upwards, I told myself that the red side spelled jump, and the black side spelled swim. Needless to say, black hit the ground. I was emotionless. The following afternoon I would find myself halfway between the two adjacent islands.
I guess I, the lost and confused spirit, the spec of dust in the vast, unforgiving ocean, had finally outdone myself. I was good mile away from the land of hope, my arms burning as if a group of Fire Ants had taken kindly to them, yet I drudged on, unsure of my future, not caring enough to worry. Would I make it? Probably not.
Some will think I’m lying, while others will call me a lair, but I swear to you a dolphin, pure and righteous in her cunning beauty, saved me that fateful afternoon, just as I was about to go under for good. She swiftly glided up from the depths and presented me her dorsal fin. Unsure of what to do – I didn’t feel worthy in the dolphin’s presence – I gave her a warm smile and told her that I didn’t want to cause her any trouble, but she said “nonsense,” so I cupped my hand around her fin as she gave me a ride to my new home, a place where he surly wouldn’t find me.
Surviving two years on that island wasn’t easy, but I managed, building an entirely new bamboo hut to prove it, a bamboo hut that was buried deep, at least a mile, within the dense forest; and although I hadn’t felt like I did a few years back, I was content, living life in no big hurry, yet still worrying about him in the back of my mind.
When I rose one morning – what must have been September, according to my of-and-on calculations – I was greeted with a thump against the side of my skull, my head spinning as if in a were cartoon, I instinctively reached for my knife, fear pulsing through my veins, and stabbed whatever had just stabbed me. I felt my bamboo spear rib through flesh, but I couldn’t see what I had it, for my vision was still tainted.
I felt like running; I really did, but I didn’t run. Instead, I held my ground, firm and commanding. When my vision returned, I looked on at the motionless man lying before me, a spear through his temple, and was surprised I had finally done it. I had finally killed myself.
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