Fairground Freedom

Her friends had advised her that staying in was doing Alice an injustice. The fair was an ideal place

to brush off her laconic feelings but she still clung to the familiarity of solitude insisting she was

alright. Eventually, after much bullying, Alice relented to her friend’s demands and followed with

little positive expectation.

   Only two miles and the walk would do her good, they said. But the night air was enhanced by a

chilly fog that caressed her exposed skin and sent icy messages to the pain receptors in her gloveless

finger tips. She rubbed them with vigour but her vain attempt left only a tingly sensation. As they

drew closer she saw children, with half-filled helium balloons tied to their wrists, clinging to

pushchairs, sobbing at their departure. Half eaten candy apples and discarded fast food wrappers

littered their path. The smell of diesel and hotdogs clogged the air and gave a sense of warmth that

did not exist.

   The otherwise dark clouds ahead were illuminated by the laser lights advertising the nauseous

rides. For a moment, Alice saw the clouds as white fluffy enticements and she grew hungry. The

twinned noises of voice and music  rudely punctuated the stillness of the night and as Alice turned

the corner she could see the stalls and the delights they offered.

   I’m hankering for something, she thought, but what is it? Slowly, she made her way through the

medley of stalls and onlookers until they were at the entrance and there it was. A small candy-floss

hand cart with a kaleidoscope parasol which match the hues of the selection of aired sugar

confectionary.

‘Help you love, what you after’ chirped the owner.

‘Umm, I would like blueberry, no strawberry, sorry no, I umm, don’t know’.

‘What about a bit of each? Two quid, yeah?’

‘Yes. Yes please!’.

   The weathered and weary  face of the punter smiled and brown teeth warned Alice of the candy

floss’ long term effects. She began the burring noise of the metal bowls, took a stick and traced it

round each, picking up the webbed sugar strands of pink and blue. Alice licked her dry lips with

desire. As she devoured the candy she sensed her mood changing and welcomed its arrival. She

became enlightened and realised life was good, she had just had to empower herself, break out from

the four walls of that melancholic prison and engage with life. Her friends were right.

   Next a fairground ride, she told herself. She began looking up at the attractions. One rider caught

her attention, his behaviour reflected what she wanted. The ride spun him high into the air on its

mechanical arm and he embraced each twist and turn as if he were a bird manoeuvring on the air

currents. His face was absent from care or worry and his hair curled carefree about him. He looked

free.  He was free.

Carnival

Kali and Jo eased through the crowded street with applied effort as they held on firmly to each

other’s shirt sleeves, and whilst Jo pushed Kali, Kali pulled Jo in return. Giggling with childish intent

they neared the town statue.

    ‘They will spot us immediately’ Kali laughed.

    ‘And? That’s part of the thrill, and if they don’t, we have the best view in town’ Jo replied.

   ‘I’m scared I’ll fall or someone from work will see me!’

   ‘You silly cow, stop fretting’.

   The carnival was due to arrive at 7:50 in the centre of town but watching it was difficult due to the

influx of visitors and the local turn out. This made Jo realise that an old childhood viewing point

was their only option; Sir Robert Blake’s statue. The fact they were both in their thirties did not seem

to dampen her ardour for such an adventure; she was even immune to Kali’s persistent worrying.

   ‘It’s about to rain’ Kali looked skywards, ‘We’ll slip’.

   ‘STOP!’ Jo barked with frustration as a large drop of rain hit her forehead.

   ‘Ha! See, I told you so, and…’ the sound of her sentence became muted as the downpour began.

   Within seconds moaning and shouting erupted from the sea of mouths around them and

spectators tried to shelter in the doorways of shops only to be battered by the wind that carried the

rain like a blanket to all retreats. Jo and Kali flung their arms around one another and ran with their

heads down towards the blue awning of a coffee shop that periodically flapped and  slapped water

down on its refugees. No matter where they sought sanctuary the rain stalked them. But as quickly

as the precipitation started, it stopped.

   ‘They’ll cancel now’ a faceless voice mused.

   ‘Nah, they won’t, you’ll see’ another voice interjected.

   ‘I want to go home’ Kali grumbled to Jo.

  ‘Ok moaning Mertyl let’s go’.

   The throng of expectant viewers had increased and their progress became treacle-like. The sound

of music, dulled only by the surrounding voices, carried on the damp tepid air and the sky seemed to

hint of coloured brightness.

   ‘It’s coming, I can hear it, look you can see the lights in the sky’ Kali pointed with child-like glee

back towards the statue that now was a multi coloured shimmer.’ Rock Around the Clock’ boomed

out crudely from a loud speaker that had been attached  with thin cord to the tractor that pulled a

brightly lit carnival cart. Semi-clad males dressed in cave-man garb whooped and whirled with other

costumed people from throughout the ages.

   ‘Look at those men!’

   ‘What you fancy men now’ Jo teased.

   ‘No silly’ Kali kissed the end of Jo’s nose and the response was an affectionate head bump.

   Jo realised that Kali had stopped to watch the first cart go by. The music blocked their

ears with its volume and shook their teeth. Jo stood behind the smaller frame of her companion and

wrapped her arms around her. Their brown and blonde locks intertwined on Kali’s shoulder and she

began to unknowingly stroke and then plait their hair together. People looked.

   ‘They’re watching us’

   ‘I know’

   ‘Are we more interesting than the carnival?’

   ‘Looks like it’

   As they mused over their situation one of the carnival entertainers began leaning towards them

from the cart. His fixed, grinning mask loomed in and for a moment everyone thought he would fall

into the spectators.

   ‘Ahhhh’, screamed Kali before realising he was wearing a harness.

  The crowd began to laugh at her mistake and she sunk her embarrassment into Jo’s embrace.

Ignorant eyes flicked in their direction accompanied by unknowing smirks that split judgemental

faces. Overwhelmed Kali turned to Jo for reassurance.

  ‘Let’s go home now sweet, they haven’t come here to see us’.

   Kali nodded her approval and with a sense of unwillingness they left.

The Deceivers

Stung by the rebuff, Alex tucked in his pride and proceeded with earnest

foot steps towards the only retreat; the exit.  Struggling to get through the

throng of drunken wedding guests he grappled with Sasha’s response to his

proposal. It had been unexpected, unthinkable and unwanted. 

   

      As he erupted in to the car park behind the village hall he stopped

momentarily to look skywards at the navy blue canopy, contemplating briefly

the outcome of the conversation. He had only asked her to marry him not

swim with sharks, he mused. Then his thoughts meandered further to her

current behaviour. She had always been delicate and vulnerable but recently

there had been a dramatic change. She had become outspoken and resilient.

Her hair was not a mousey brown but rather a sharp shock of red.  Her

avoidance of perfume a thing of the past. Gone was the plumpness he once

knew, replaced by a voluptuous figure. Her tone of voice no longer demure,

instead it hinted of seductiveness. She had changed and it was unnerving.

    Lost briefly in thought he did not hear the approaching foot fall of Sasha as

she neared him. She had decided to pursue him but now regretted her

weakness. Sasha knew he was having an affair. She knew the revelation had

catapulted her out of the dream world she had been occupying through their

six year  relationship. She knew it was going to be the making of her and his

downfall, amongst others. Alex’s secret; his lie soon to be exposed.

    He was ‘a catch ’or so her family and friends thought. All the things a girl

wants in a boy.  Intelligent; humorous; kind; loving; generous and faithful.  

If only they knew him like she did. Dull; witless; callous; selfish; stingy and

fickle.

Watching Alex she too began to gaze upwards.  A speckled scene of stars

proliferated the cobalt blue night canvas, like casted droplets from a busy

artist’s errant brush. Accompanying them a sliver of arched, iridescent white;

the birthing moon. Its Sharpness a precise tear, to her, symbolised their

relationship.  

    Whilst Alex was mesmerised by the scene Sasha took her cue and slunk back

to the wedding reception of his mistress; Maria. As she did so, the rumble of an

all too familiar car engine signified Alex’s departure.

    Sasha was relieved but only briefly as she bumped in to Kevin, the

Bridegroom, just outside the exit.

‘Did you tell him?’ he asked sternly, drawing on his celebration cigar.

‘No’ came her curt reply.

‘You must!’ he demanded breathlessly, exposing her to the stale smell of his friend Jack Daniels

‘It could be yours’ she fumed.

‘And?’ he said smugly ‘it doesn’t matter’.

‘What do you expect me to do Kev?’ she asked with irritation.

‘Pretend’ he said with a sickly smile ‘then we can all play happy families together’.

‘Not likely’ came her final retort.

    Sasha barged past him defensively but was caught by unforgiving hands.

‘Stop, help!’  she cried. But the noise of the reception and the first peel of a

church bell obliterated her call for assistance. Kevin’s green eyes pierced her

resolve albeit temporarily.

‘I won’t let you destroy what I have with Maria; she’s 2 months pregnant for

god’s sake’, he spat ‘Keep to the original plan bitch!’

    And that’s when it happened, the pleasant feelings of a belly laugh.

Sasha found herself bent double with waves of spasmodic laughter, as she

truly understood the irony of the situation. Her rebuff would topple them all.

Never had she possessed so much power.

Psychic Training

The doorbell rings.

‘That is bizarre’ I mutter to myself as I cross the living room.
‘The doorbell does not work’.
I stop. I laugh at myself.
‘Yes, because that is the craziest thing that is happened today!’
I walk over to the bright red rectangular door, the only thing I recognise in my whole entire home, and I gaze through the peephole. No one was there. I step back and start to ponder my situation. As I stare at my closed door my mind begins to whir and I recall the events of the day.

I had woken up this morning with a jolt. I had had a strange dream, the kind that is followed by the feeling of falling down a never-ending black hole. My Grandmother always said the day you hit the bottom of the black hole is the day you will die, and after the day I had had I could not help but wish I had reached the bottom. I had sat up and rubbed my eyes, and I had shivered. It was another cold, fresh November morning, and I had made a mental note to remember my hat, scarf and gloves. I had wrapped myself up tighter in my duvet, and then I had taken a deep breath before making my way to the shower. I had climbed in, letting the warm drops of water surround my body in a liquid hug.

After a few minutes, I had quickly dried and dressed in my favourite knee-length navy dress which wrapped around me clutching my curves. I had combed through my hair and let it fall down my back as I did every morning – I was lucky, my waist length black hair dried in perfect curls naturally. I had stared at my face in the mirror, trying to decide what make-up to slap onto my pale skin. In the end I had chosen to line my eyes in purple to emphasise my dark green irises. I had painted my lips red and given myself one last look-over before grabbing my bag and keys and running out of the door.
‘I shall have breakfast on the way’ I thought.
Then, as I climbed into my red Citroen C4 I had glanced at the clock on the dashboard. ~
‘No!’ I had exclaimed out loud.
I was going to be late.
‘No breakfast for me then I guess’ I had sighed.
My boss, Joe, was most unhappy when I had arrived 10 minutes, but had soon forgiven me once I had handed him his morning Starbucks latte. Joe is the managing director of a large printing company named Carder House Inc., where I work as his personal assistant. Carder House is situated on the top two floors of a skyscraping building in the centre of Chicago. The view is magnificent and I smile as I think of how I had stood there this morning, next to Joe, watching the world. And then I think of Joe and sigh. With dark blonde hair, tanned skin, and hazel green eyes, he is my idea of a perfect man; even with the stubble he hadn’t been bothered to shave this morning.

I digress from my thoughts as I wander through to my living room. This morning, my walls had been cream, my floor pale and laminated, my furniture dark wood, and my sofas deep purple. This morning, my sofas had sat up against the walls, each facing my 32 inch LCD television, with a coffee table central on my chocolate coloured rug. Now though, my walls are covered in strips of three dimensional yellow wallpaper, my floor is covered in crimson carpet, my furniture is silver and all fabric matches my dress. Now, my sofas face each other, a television is non-existent, and a large record player stands in glory in the corner of the room. I step through to the kitchen and stand where my double fridge used to be. My sleek, black dining room table is gone and in its place stands a shiny beige coloured table with legs that come out further than the top. It’s pushed up against the wall and on it stands a massive rubber plant, not the glossy, thin, tall vase that usually holds a single artifical rose. My sideboards, usually silky and dark and stretching around the kitchen have shrunk, now covering only one wall in a grainy shade of blue. My once beige wooden flooring has been replaced by black and white squared tiling, like a chessboard. I sigh, confused and at a loss at what to do. I go through to my bedroom, the third room in my small Chicago flat.
‘Let me see what the bedroom looks like!’ I said aloud exasperated.
My once chic and modern bedroom is a shade of peach pink and very floral. As I walk across the room, I catch a glimpse of a mustard yellow bathroom suite and a brown tiled floor. I put my head in my hands and then sink onto the bed, I lay back and stare at the heavily artexed ceiling. I return to my thoughts to continue the day’s events, wondering what on earth could have happened.

Work had been quite a usual day, as standard as most could be. I had proof-read some articles for Joe to review which had taken me up until lunchtime.
‘Alicia’ Joe had called from his office.
I had pushed back my chair and stood up, hastily answering him – he asked me to fetch his lunch from the bakery across town.
‘No problem’ I had replied.
‘See you soon’.
I had then snatched my keys off my desk on my way downstairs to the buildings underground car park. I remembered I had placed myself into my C4. I sat up abruptly on the bed where I was; I froze. I did not remember anything else of the day. Suddenly I felt dizzy. I lay back and closed my eyes. I could hear voices buzzing around my ears, murmuring my name.
‘Alicia’, ‘Alicia!’
I feel my mind becoming more and more confused, my head becoming fuzzier and fuzzier. I open my eyes. The light is bright. I hear Joe shout.
‘Joe? In my apartment?’
I slowly become aware that I am not in my apartment; I am lying in a hospital bed.

As my eyes focus I stare up at Joe. I comprehend that it was a nurse he had shouted to, for she is checking my blood pressure.
‘What...what happened?’ I say in a croaky voice.
‘Where am I?!’
Panic starts rising and I try to sit up but I am too weak and I slump back onto the pillows. ‘You were in an accident’ explains Joe gently.
‘A delivery lorry lost control in the parking lot and smashed straight into your car. As soon as I found out, I hurried here! I have not left your side in the 24 hours you have been here’.
I am staring at this man in horror as he tells me this, but even in the state I am in I do not neglect to notice what a beautiful man he is. I realise I have forgotten to listen to the injuries he is listing. I tune back in to hear
‘…and I have called your parents. They are on their way here from London. I am so glad you are okay! I do not know what I would have done if I had lost you...’
He is holding my hand as he blabbers. I give him a weak smile and then the nurse turns to me and asks an extraordinary question.
‘Alicia, what did you dream about..?’
I stop and think, and then I explain how my home had changed!
‘Only, it didn’t feel like a dream’ I finished.
The nurse smiled.
‘We have been monitoring your brain activity throughout the last 24 hours. You have been quite a busy girl in your coma! It would seem you have been experiencing memories that do not belong to you’.
My jaw drops.
‘W-what?’ I stutter,
‘…you mean... I have seen someone else’s visions through my own eyes?’
‘Yes’, beamed the nurse, apparently chuffed with her unusual diagnosis.
‘You appear to have developed some psychic abilities...’

Visit of the Undead

‘That was a long way!’ Thomas thought.
He sat up slowly, feeling bruised and sore, and became aware that the coconut had disappeared.
‘I must have dropped it’, he assumed.
Then he looked around. He blinked a couple of times, and took another look. He was gazing into a room, with 2 tall backed seats covered in floral patterns, facing a television, and stood on thick cream carpets. On the beige walls hung pictures of children, some black and white, and some modern day. The room was of average size, with a pine display cabinet and matching table and chairs. It was Thomas’ grandparent’s drawing room. He glanced down. He was filthy, he skin stained black.
‘Soot’, he muttered as he realised he was sat in the fireplace.
He crawled out carefully, dreading what his grandmother would say when she saw the black mess on her carpet. As if reading his mind, his grandmother entered the room.
‘Hi Grandma’, he said weakly.
She ignored him. She walked straight past him and sat down in the chair that was positioned next to the fireplace. The television was on and she was watching it, so Thomas stood in her line of vision and crouched to her eye level. She was looking straight past him. She could not see him, nor hear him. He went to find his Granddad, who was outside in the garage cleaning his tools. It had been snowing and the temperature was almost freezing. Thomas realised he was only dressed in his shorts and t-shirt which he had worn on the island. He grabbed his Granddad’s old coat on the way out.
‘Granddad?’ he called quietly at first.
‘Granddad!’ louder this time.
There was no reply. His grandfather did not look up from his tools. Thomas made his way across the garage, purposely stomping and rustling the coat, trying to make as much noise as possible. There was still no response. Thomas gave up. He headed back towards the house, shuffling his feet through the snow on the driveway, which filled his trainers and froze his toes. He climbed the stairs slowly and paused at the back door, hand on handle, pondering his situation.
‘No one can see me, no one can hear me’, he whispered to himself.
He glanced back towards the garage, and noticed his father’s old motocross bike propped up against the wall, covered in a dusty old tarpaulin. A huge grin appeared on Thomas’ face. He ran back across the garden, yanked the sheet off of the bike and kick-started the motor. It worked first time.
‘Just like Dad always said it did!’ he smiled to himself, imagining his Dad on this very bike when he was Thomas’ age.
Thomas pulled a helmet onto his head; his grandfather had many lined up on a book shelf in the garage. He climbed onto the bike and forced it into gear. He exited the garage, inching the bike along the driveway, nervous at first. He remembered his grandparents lived in a cul-de-sac, and took the opportunity to gain his confidence by doing some laps up and down the road. Around the corner, only a couple of streets away, there was a large park with an area dedicated to sand jumps, and Thomas was determined to give it a go.
He arrived and the park was empty.
‘Not that it matters’ he thought, ‘they probably wouldn’t be able to see me anyway!’
He rode around the track, circling in and out of the carefully placed trees and bushes. He got used to the feel of the bike, to the suspension, to the sand under the wheels. The sun was dropping in the sky, and the headlamp on the bike was showing its age. Thomas was aware he would have to do this now or not at all that night. He approached the edge of the sandy ramp and pulled back his throttle even further. He built up speed, he travelled quicker and quicker and reached the top of the ramp and became airborne. But Thomas was so overwhelmed and excited by the prospect of the jump, he hadn’t anticipated his landing. As he hit the ground once more, his mind swirled with panic and he confused his hands. The bike swerved sideways, the back wheel reaching around the bike and the handle bars locked. Thomas was flung across the park as he let go of the bike, and landed in a crumpled heap in a nearby bush. The bike tumbled to the ground in a cloud of sand and dirt, crashing into the wall that surrounded the park. Thomas twitched. His eyelids flickered. And then he was still.

A Space Walk

Thomas opened his eyes slowly and careful under the bright sunlight. The sun wasn’t very high in the sky, and so he could only assume it was early morning. A pink haze surrounded the island; a storm was coming. Thankfully, Thomas had only to move his fire from outside his shelter to inside before he could make use of his building. It had taken four days and much improvisation, but finally the house was complete. He had created two enclosed spaces and a third with a wall missing, for the fire to sit. The horse, which he had named Miles, had one room which was now full of hay. Conveniently, Thomas had found countless bales towards what he now referred to as the back of the Island.
‘Miles will not be hungry now’, he had figured.
The second room belonged to Thomas. He had created a bed from mud and sand and topped it with soft springy heather; he had found lots behind the area he had chosen to build his house. He had found some wooden planks washed up on the shore and had used some to build the divider between the rooms; should it get colder, he could remove the divider and sleep closer to Miles. He had collected a selection of coconuts that had fallen and gathered them into a corner of his room, along with the rock he had been using to break them open.
Thomas set about extinguishing the fire, using empty coconut shells as makeshift bowls and filling them with seawater. He moved the wood that was still of use to sit under his shelter, so that if the rain did appear during the day the fire had less chance of going out. He tried to light the fire again; no luck. For what felt like at least an hour he attempted the relight his fire.
‘Great’, he muttered, cursing the wet logs.
Thomas gave a long low whistle.
‘Miles!’ he called out.
‘Miles?’
With a clutter of thuds the horse headed towards Thomas, stopping just short of his feet. Miles cocked his head on to one side and whinnied in response.
‘We must find fresh firewood boy’, said Thomas, mounting the clever pony.
‘Do not go too fast! I must keep my eyes open for good wood!’
Miles headed towards the centre of the island, where the trees grew tall and the grass was bright green. Thomas was gripping his mane firmly. Suddenly, Miles skidded to a halt on the sandy path.
‘What it is? What’s the matter?’ Thomas was fretting, wondering whether Miles had hurt himself – there were copious amounts of thorn bushes and plenty of hidden spikes under the sand surface. Miles was alert, his ears twitching backwards and forwards.
‘What can you hear buddy?’
Just at that moment, Thomas heard it too. It was a long, low sort of whining noise. Miles began to inch to the left, treading carefully in the long grass. Peering through the trees, Thomas could make out a shadow, an object in the middle of nowhere. As they approached, he saw that it was moving. Then he saw some ears prick up, and some eyes staring in their direction.
‘Well Miles!’ he exclaimed.
‘It’s a puppy!’
He dismounted and edged towards the frightened bundle of matted fur. Thomas broke apart a coconut he had brought with them, and held half of the shell out like he had done for Miles. The puppy sniffed the air, immediately identifying the coconut milk and began to salivate until Thomas was close enough. The puppy lapped at the makeshift bowl hungrily.
‘I wonder how long you’ve been here’, Thomas said gently.
The puppy allowed Thomas to stroke him as he drank. Thomas began to comb through the fur with his fingers, removing dirt and tugging at knots. A few minutes later, the puppy looked a lot less bedraggled. Thomas began to back away from him, holding out the coconut bowl to try and coax him to walk. The puppy happily obliged and Thomas could see he was not seriously harmed.
‘Come on, come on!’ Thomas called.
Thomas turned and was surprised to realise Miles was no longer anywhere to be seen.
‘Miles! Where have you gotten to?’
The puppy was fussing around Thomas’ ankles by now. He was a small terrier, black with a white patch across his eye, and a white underneath.
‘Let’s go and find that horse’ Thomas said more to himself than to the puppy.
Thomas set off back to the sandy path that he had strayed from.
‘Miles! Miles!’ he shouted as he made his way deeper into the centre of the island.
The sun was much less visible now, as tall trees with leaves the size of rowing boats obstructed it. Thomas continued to yell for his companion with no luck. The puppy seemed content running to and fro, sniffing at the plants and marking his territory. Thomas began to feel weary. He was unaware how long he had been searching for Miles for, but he’s legs were beginning to ache and he was thirsty. He settled himself on one of the many boulders dotted around the island. These giant lumps of rock had made excellent rest points throughout the few days Thomas had been living there. Thomas opened another coconut, and the puppy decided to pause his exploring long enough to share a drink with Thomas. As Thomas tilted his head to take his drink, the puppy became very excitable, jumping up at Thomas, trying to reach the coconut again. All of a sudden, Thomas lost his balance and toppled backwards off of the rock and fell. And fell. And he continued to fall, until he landed with a soft thud on his back. 

Windswept

With a jolt, Thomas became aware of his body once more. His legs felt bruised, tender and heavy. He flinched as he flexed his bare toes. He could feel heat hitting his bare skin, drying the shorts and t-shirt that clung to him, sodden.  It took two seconds more for him to realise that the ground on which he lay was uneven. It was warm. When he moved, so did it. It was hard and uncomfortable. Unnerved, Thomas took a big breath. He could smell a delicious combination of fresh air, fish, salt water, plants and trees. He inwardly frowned, confused as to why his senses were identifying such unusual objects. His eyes flickered open, reluctantly under the beam of what he assumed was the sun bright and high in the sky. He paused. He had noticed a severe lack of clouds in the stretch of blue above him.

Thomas was still very weary and had a distinct lack of co-ordination on his side. He spent several minutes pondering his situation, picking his memory to try and determine how he came to awaken here. He freezes and his eyes widen as he remembers the storm. The wind had been so strong, so loud, screaming through the streets of his home town and howling into every corner. He recalled himself struggling to arrive at his own front door, fighting to progress one step and failing as the wind pushed him back two more. He had grown too weak, his energy depleted, his strength and willpower demolished, and the giant gripping hands of the wind had begun to toss him around like rag doll. He winced as he was reminded of the slap of the water against his skin as his helpless body was thrown into the dingy river. And now here he was. Alone, confused, and sore.

Slowly, he wedged his elbows underneath his shoulders so that he was halfway to sitting. He glanced around, nervously anticipating the worst.
‘Eww!’ he exclaimed, scrambling backwards.
 ‘Ohh…’ he breathed out.
A pile of murky green, slimy seaweed had attached itself to his foot. He clambered to his feet, awkwardly in his pain. Sand fell to the floor from his clothing in a cloud. As he straightened up and looked ahead, the soft wash of the waves against the shore made Thomas’ circumstances much calmer. The water was a very deep blue and contrasted with the pale sky at the horizon. He detected movement to his left and shot a look in the direction. A crab, quite large, with swirling colours of red and pink all over its hard shell, ran from under a rock and across to the water’s edge before sinking in the soft sand and disappearing from sight. Thomas relaxed.

He turned around and was relieved to see bright green grass and tall palm trees with fallen coconuts gathered around the foot. He treaded carefully, unsure on his feet for they were still inflamed. He grew more confident, stepping more quickly, breaking into a jog in his effort to reach the coconuts. He had suddenly realised he was extremely hungry. It also occurred to him that he had no idea how long he had been here, but his mind was focused on the cold smooth milk. He dropped to his knees, became vaguely aware of a substantial bruise, ignored it and with force brought down a coconut onto the sharp edge of a rock. The liquid splashed as a hole emerged in the furry object. He took a long drink, wiped his milky moustache from his lip, and flopped onto his back in the cool grass.

A short time later, Thomas heard an unusual sound. A sort of repeated thud getting closer and closer – until it stopped. Thomas sat up with a start and promptly hit his head on a…
‘What was that?’ He thought.
Then he heard a whinny above his head.
‘What? A horse?!’
He looked up and a soft fuzzy muzzle nudged his cheek. Thomas stood up slowly, backed away and admired the beast in front of him. He was a brilliant white, with a subtle sweep of dark grey speckles along his back. He stood looking at Thomas with mischievous questioning eyes and a tilted head. Thomas gawped in awe. The horse clip-clopped towards him, and nudged him.
 ‘Hey!’ said Thomas aloud.
The horse gave another soft whinny and bowed his head at Thomas. Thomas bowed back. He moved towards the creature and stood on a rock just next to him. The horse moved sideways, closer to Thomas, and allowed the boy to climb onto his back. As soon as Thomas had a grip on the mane, they were off.

The wind generated from the speed the horse was running was a very welcome breath of cool air all over Thomas’ body, whistling in his ears and through his scruffy sweep of mousy hair. Sand flew in storms as the hooves expertly chose their path. From any passing boat they must have looked a blur of colour. Splashed water landed on Thomas’ skin, refreshing it. Before he knew it, they were back where they’d started.
‘Wow’ he thought.
‘Small island’.

The horse came to a halt and allowed Thomas to slide off of his back. Thomas found another coconut, broke it in half against a rock edge, and held it out as a bowl for the horse to take a drink. The horse appeared very grateful.

Thomas sat himself on a rock as the horse began to graze nearby. He had come to a realisation after his ride around the island. It appeared he was the only human inhabitant, and he could look at that one of two ways. First, he could panic. Second, he could own his own island. He chose the latter and set about hunting for wood. He had no clue as to how cold the night would be, and figured a fire would be most helpful to him. Tomorrow, he would begin to build himself a house.