Seventy Days

*TW: vague mentions of suicide, derailing mental health.*

Day 19

The stick has become numb with all of its uses, I thank it for helping me all this time. I used it once more, making a small line next to several other lines on a tortured stone. Tossing it out to sea, I wonder if it’ll ever reach land again. Will I ever reach my land again?

No matter, stop thinking like that! Patience is a virtue and I have plenty of wild animals who’ll maybe one day offer an invitation to a game of cards, that is if they can get out of my greedy little fingers and convince me not to eat them before I do exactly that.

It is never too late to learn how to make a spear or hunt for fish with spears and hit birds with stones but I swear upon it I will be saved before the situation ever tips out of balance. I have plenty of food (crackers, half a piece of bread, and one tomato) and water (from the sea) to quench my thirst.

Yes, I do believe it’ll be quite alright, I’ve survived this far and yet I have the best feeling today will be my last night here. I will now confidently say, yes I will be rescued in a few hours. I tear a small piece of my skirt, and pile it up with a bunch of small sticks, one more fire for warmth won’t hurt before my ultimate rescue.

My cheeks start to feel funny and hurt, I grab them with my hands, the dirt and sand in my fingernails stinging, helping my smile ease into oblivion.

I stare away from the glistening water, turning towards my temporary home, the crooked old lighthouse.

I will wait some more.

Day 31

I’ve found myself bored of the one book that lives with me. The beginning of the story drags on and on to the point I can’t get past page five, and I’ve been here for thirty one days! The food I so graciously took for granted was all gone. Partly from a loud fat seagull who decided it could have my bread without asking. I should have gone hungry by now, or even crazy. And maybe I have considered chewing on my fingers, so what?

I cannot tell where I’m trapped anymore, a cage in my mind or the shore of an abandoned beach. How maddening I can barely even remember the month. Sometimes I even forget about the color of my eyes. And once I found myself thinking deeply if I can become a fish if I paint gills over my skin.

I have really put up with myself for a while, but it is not safe for a person to be stuck with their own thoughts for too long, they may become mad!

Sometimes I sit by the steep, gloomy stairs of the lighthouse, and I stare at the horizon waiting for a ship to come by and the crew to fuss over my health. I imagine when I get on board there will be a party and food and some wine. God I would love to have some wine. The people on board will laugh and sing like pirates and ask me how I landed astray on this beach. I’ll shake my head drunkenly and tell them, “Well sir, I have no idea!”

Oh I’ve missed the feeling of drinking my sorrows away! I can’t even remember the last time I had a bottle, such a sad place to be in.

I look up as something drops on my head. To my astonishment the sky has begun to cry, and I might as well cry with it from joy. I stick my tongue out and feel the cool tears of the clouds and today I finally know what joy feels like as we both weep.

Day 40

I sprawl myself over the tiny grains and feel the salty water hit my hair every once in a while. I haven’t moved for the past few days, my eyes were closely trained on the birds passing by. How hard would it be to learn to fly and grab one of them by their ugly little feet and feast upon them for supper? Not long I bet. If I put my mind to it I know I’ll soar above all those winged creatures.

“Oh for crying out loud!” I start to wail, turning around to lie on my stomach I feel the jagged earth stab into me when really I knew it was just the sand. Forget flying, I can't even walk straight anymore. The sea lands in my eyes and face and neck when a wave decides to torment me a little bit more. I cry even harder, grabbing at the water as it pulls away, as if appalled by my reaction.

I swear I see a face out of it, and it’s looking at me in what seems like an awful amount of pity. “Come back, I demand you..!” I start to cough. “Come back. Guide someone to me! Let me go home!” The wave shakes its head and starts to laugh.

“Damn you..” I blubber as new tears spring in my eyes but it’s too late. The wave loses its face, mocking my misery as it goes down and I’m left waiting for it to reappear like an idiot.

Day 49

The probability of the berries growing on the bushes to be edible is more than likely close to zero. But if that was true I will begin to assume I’ve died and am living as a ghost. It tastes bizarre and spicy, might not even be berries. For all I know this isn’t a bush and it’s really a porcupine.

And because I know I’ve derailed from reality, hopelessly clinging to the thought that this will be worth it once saved, I did not trust myself when I saw there were no berries in the bush this morning. My hands stained red as the branches and leaves scraped my palms, I was desperate to find even one small berry, it could be the spiciest one, just let me have it.

My hands finally touch something small and round, without hesitation I grab it and pull my bleeding fingers free.

Now please believe me when I say it’s right there! Look closely, you see the fruit don’t you? Just tell me I haven’t gone completely crazy. Feel them, feel them and tell me they are there. I blink furiously but the shape just will not form in my hands.

I bring my trembling palm up to my mouth and lick it, if I can feel it I must be able to taste it.

I do taste something.

It’s nothing but iron.

Day 55

I felt a little giddy this morning. To my surprise I was able to catch a fast little fish with nothing but my hard working hands and sharp mind.

I barely remember how to work a fire but once it gets going I waste no time quickly trying to cook it. I’m so happy that patience returns to me at full speed and suddenly I’m left with only the thought of correctly savoring this short meal.

I bite into it slowly yet firmly, expecting some sort of rich flavor to reach my tastebuds in a quick second and envelop my body into a hug of some sort.

No, all I feel is a crunch. It hurts my teeth. I spit it out of my mouth and cough in disgust. Forget the feeling of it, the taste was even more horrid.

When my dizzy gaze refocused I realized it was no fish I was cooking, it wasn’t even alive. It was an orange broken knife handle, now charred in black.

The cries I let on were too loud today, it allowed me to continue my tiny knot of hope that I would be saved. Even this delirious I knew my tears were horribly huge and my face disgusting with all the snot rolling down my nose as well. It was so bad, someone must have heard it.

Day 62

Sixty two days later and somehow no ship has passed by. I have not heard any singing and I can’t even hear the bugs anymore. They were once so loud.

The book I once had is no more, I’ve bitten off a lot of the pages. Each swallow reminded me how bad of a book it really was. The thing is, it was not even the hunger that I worried about at that moment, but it was the fact I was forgetting how to spell. Wouldn’t you agree with me that if I tasted the ink and rolled it over in my mouth the words would stick inside my head? I thought so too, but life is filled with many disappointments.

The puddle the sky had filled up for me with its tears has been dry for quite some time now. I almost built a headstone out of the branches from the dead bush just to make my sadness justified.

I do not have the motivation to continue waiting for something that will never ever come. A few times I’ve caught myself thinking about death more clearly than I have in years, and it might not be so bad. But do I have the strength to step out to sea and give up forever?

I haven’t finished chewing up the book, perhaps I can think more once I’m full.

Day 70

I can no longer go inside the lighthouse. My feet refuse to carry me even a single step of the way. No matter, I rarely even care anymore. I only vaguely remember how I even got to this situation in the first place and It was probably my fault through and through.

I’ve been lying to myself for the past seventy days, it’s been my hope and I can finally see that it’s been fake all along.

I’ve been thinking about the reasons, all of them, why have I not been saved? Was I a bad daughter? Have I done someone harm?

I hope there is a reason, but it’s killing me fast not knowing.

Recently I’ve heard my mother calling which is a strange occurrence, I haven’t seen her since I was little. Well, she seems so near but I am way too tired to get up from my curled position on the ground, covered in fallen leaves and on a mattress of sand. It won’t hurt her to walk a few steps closer.

And as if my thoughts were heard, I hear her footsteps, light and airy. I remember a time where I used to pretend to be asleep and wait for her to come into my room and flip the covers off of me, leaving both of us laughing. But this time for a split second I’m scared about closing my eyes. I weakly dispersed the thoughts, I always opened my eyes in the end.