Numbered Days

7 days. It has been 7 days, this much I knew. I have not gotten to the point yet where my best friend is a volleyball named Wilson with a drawn on face and grass hair, but my 5 o’clock shadow has become more of a 10 o’clock phantom. The mere stench emanating from me is enough to ward off human and animal like, so I’m glad I’m on this island by myself, wherever I am. Luckily, boy scout skills have come in handy as far as starting fires and identifying edible foods. However, there was no scout training on spearing tropical fish. Still working on that. While the boy scout skills were worth it, this pilot license was not. Definitely not exploring the Bermuda Triangle on a dare ever again.

So far, the only thing that has tethered me to reality is my makeshift calendar: a wall at the base of a wet cave with tallies made by yours truly and a pale rock. 7 strikes. 5 grouped and slashed together and 2 paired off to the side. I end each night with a mark. Another day survived. Another night to live through. Tonight would not be any different, yet I hoped the day would bring rescue. “We’ll try again tomorrow,” I told myself before tucking in for the night next to my calendar.

The sun shone in all through the cave every morning. Conveniently angled I suppose. As my house of rock filled with sunshine, I glanced at my calendar wall. Blinked. Paused. Squinted. The sun must be too bright, that’s why. I trudged up to the wall, still half-dazed. Nothing. I rubbed the sleep and harsh sunlight out of my eyes. Still nothing. Blank, as if I crash landed here just today. The wall was devoid of the last 7 days with not even pieces of chalky rock to dust off. No blackboard streaks to blame on human hands. Nada. I really am alone here. Under any other circumstances, that wouldn’t be too concerning. But my numbered days were quite literally gone and unless there was a quick rain or a tidal wave that only soaked the left side of the cave and dried by morning, the culprit remained unknown.

I grabbed the pale rock from the floor of the cave (at least that hadn’t moved). I redrew the 7 tallies. There. As if nothing changed.

In fact, nothing had changed. No prospects of rescue today either. The island was still the island. The sun still scorched the sands on the beach. The same aquamarine waters surrounded me on all sides with no hopes of civilization on their horizons. I made plenty an effort as far as SOS signals. I formed a massive “help” sign on the beach with pieces of driftwood. Whatever was left over, I used for firewood and hoped the flames were bright enough to be seen from a dist-

The sign. The ashes from the fire.

It’s…all gone.

Okay. Don’t panic. As far as the sign is concerned, it could very well be that the waves came in close and pulled them back out into the ocean. Plausible explanation. But..the ashes. They were too far from the shore to have washed away. And if that were even the case, something would have been left behind. A dark spot in the sand, some charred wood, at the very least the rocks forming the makeshift fire pit. Rocks can’t be carried away by waves, can they?

I went about my day, investigating and searching for other oddities. Nothing else caught my eye. The jungle otherwise remained the same. The same trees. The same bushes. The same small animals. As the day went on, the weight of my missing signs of life fell away. I could make another SOS signal. And a missing bonfire never harmed anyone. When I returned home to my cave, I watched the wall carefully. I made a mental note of where I slept and which side of the cave the wall was located. I observed natural markers around the wall. Okay there’s moss there and a plant growing there, but not here. Got it. Satisfied with my observations, I went to sleep.

No. Absolutely not. No way in Hell. I sleepwalked to the wrong side of the cave. I wiped it off in my sleep somehow. There’s someone in the thick of the jungle, and they come out every morning to clean my wall. This can’t. Keep. Happening.

I stared at the blank wall. It has only been 8 days and I am already losing my mind. How am I supposed to stay sane long enough for a rescue? Either this marks the beginning of my swift descent into madness or someone or something here is making it so.

I can’t believe I’m being gaslit by a fucking island.

Forget it, then. I don’t need to keep track of the days anyway. Why does it matter? Each day has been the exact same as the last. Whether I spend 8 days or 80 days on this pile of dirt, it won’t change anything. What is it they say? That time is a human construct? Well, that has never felt more evident until now. A weekend, 3 days, 4 days. We keep track of it. But the difference between 200 days and 201 days? Why does that difference not matter as much? Why should it matter at all?

Regardless of how long I waste away, outcomes will remain the same. The sun will still rise and set. The waves will still push and pull on the sands of the shore. And I will either die here or somewhere inland after a plane or boat takes pity on my meager existence. The span of time between now and then will not make a difference. Would I prefer sooner rather than later? Of course. But the question will never be “by when?” It will always be “if.”

No more tallies.

I will sleep under the moon today. Right on the shore. I don’t need to look at that decrepit wall anymore.

..Did..did I take a nap? How long have I been asleep? The moon is still up…I might’ve just napped for a moment…

Oof my head..I feel so groggy. Maybe sleeping on the shore is making my body ache. I’m not used to it. I should sleep back in the cave. That’ll be more comfortable.

I…I’ve slept. I know I’ve slept. I’m tired of sleeping. Did I sleep through the whole day? It’s still dark out. I should just stay awake.

The moon. It hasn’t moved. And the likelihood of me waking up at the same exact time as I fell asleep is slim to none. Even as I look at it now, it's still and looming . Usually, its small movements are detectable, like watching the slight turn of a minute hand on a clock as the second hand ticks. Yet, the moon’s second hands are stuck too. The stars flickered but stubbornly remained fixated beside it and the clouds were forbidden from floating onward. I stared. I don’t know for how long. There was no way for me to know anymore.

Where am I? What is this place?

I flung a rock at it as far as the strength in my arm would allow. And another. And another. They all arced and fell with a distant and deep sploosh somewhere.

“MOVE! MOVE, DAMN YOU! HOW DARE YOU KEEP ME PRISONER HERE?”

It didn’t answer. Of course it doesn’t answer. What were you expecting? A polite “okay” to your demands? I paced along the shores. The moon watched. A silent audience to a troubled stage actor prior to a monologue. I halted mid-pace. And sprinted to the cave.

The chalk the chalk the chalk the chalk where is that freaking- GOT IT. I feverishly grabbed the pale rock in the cave, my only source of light from the moon. For some reason, that angered me even more. As if it were saying, “Oh go ahead. Please, by all means. Now this I have to see. Here in fact, let me light the way to your stupid idea.” I made my first mark into the wall, digging into it. Crumbles of the makeshift chalk in my hand fell. I made more. 1…2….3….4….5….6….7….8…9…..I looked down. The moonlight shifted a centimeter. If I hadn’t been so obsessed with it, I might not have even noticed. I sat and watched closely, like a toddler fascinated with an ant colony in his backyard. The silver light continued to inch across the cave.

This..isn’t fair.

I had surrendered myself to a floating clock in space. It dictated everything as far as my time on this island was concerned. It told me when to write on the wall and laughed when it all vanished. It quietly expressed its distaste when I didn’t follow the script. I had no power here…unless….

I picked up the chalky rock again. And began tallying. Endlessly. More and more lines. Days that had not come to pass. Days that had not even begun yet. Days that I’m not sure I would get to experience. But I counted them any way. If this heavenly clock was going to keep pressing rewind, then I’m taking the remote and forwarding all of it.

I’m not sure what I wanted to happen. Maybe to break the cycle. Maybe to magically skip forward to when I’m home or when I’m dead, depending on how things here played out. But I didn’t feel either of those things happening. What I did feel was a tremor. Maybe a large ship just landed on the shore? Maybe help finally arrived?

I stepped out. The tremor had not stopped, no rescue in sight. The regret flooded me almost instantly. The waves had ceased altogether. The ocean before me became as still as bathwater. Birds fled the jungle and took to the skies in a hoard of panic. As my eyes looked up to the flock, I took in the sight of the moon. A jagged line had divided its east and west hemispheres. Chunks the size of meteors broke off from its edges. It was splintering. Pieces were gravitating away from one another, like a cookie dropped on tile. The moon continued to separate. Parts that once floated began to speed towards the atmosphere. I ran.

The wall the wall the wall no no no I can fix this I can go back I can…I can…

In the cave, I scrubbed the wall. I urgently rubbed away the bits of chalk, my skin burning against the jagged texture. My palms bled. Tears stung my eyes.

“No no no please I’m begging you I’m so sorry. Please! I want to GO HOME! I just wanted to go home!”

The earth roared in pain. Pieces of the moon had landed. And the tidal wave was not far. My “if” had been answered, and I no longer wished to hear it.