Three days of constant stinging rain, howling, battering winds, bending trees and flying palm leaves; followed by four days of scorching heat and repetitive despair. The drinking water was gone, the well had collapsed and started to expel a putrid odour. Dylan didn't have the energy to dig another hole or fish in the choppy sea. It all seemed hopeless as he watched the fire slowly die. He tuned Shelby’s constant moaning out.
He was sick of the astringent tang of purple crabs and the redolent scent of the fire smothering their ragged clothes. The fresh clean air heightening his senses into a microsmatic level of smelling ability. Petrichor, the earths sent before the rain, filled the air. “Not again when is it going to stop”. He could swear the wind, as it whistled in from the sea and across the beach, carried with it the smell of putrescine from the decomposing bodies he had buried.
Deflated, Dylan stood up slow and jerked as if the life had been kicked out of him, he had enough energy to push down on his knees with his hands and slouched towards the sea in a simulated drunken stupor. He flopped into the water weightless, laid on his back and marvelled at the bright stars, relaxed now, almost as if he was at peace with himself as he floated further out. Shelby screamed out after him. He continued and focused on the beautiful bright starry sky.
Only the briny air filled his nostrils now helping him to clear his head. Shelby's screaming faded out and he found himself at a deeper tranquillity of mind sinking benefit the salty water. Thoughts of his mum and how she used to be constantly criticising, moaning and judging. His father would say that even though your mother seems a little crazy and nasty at times when she was being nice it was the best thing in the world and without her, he would have been nothing. He never understood the last part of his father’s recurring statement. Maybe it all meant that a woman could be a sail or an anchor.
A bubble of air with the word Shelby trapped inside released from Dylan’s open mouth. Snatching at the water, he moved his arms to swim to the surface. His instinct for survival had kicked in. The will to live suddenly became stronger, as something he thought about woke him up. Weak, he struggled to muster the strength. Reaching the surface, he sucked in salt water and through his eyes the world faded to black.
His body washed up on shore again he was barely alive. Desperately, she pounded on his chest and blew air into his lungs until he spat out sea water and sucked in air – a gargled mixture of both. Face creased with anger, she delivered a round of punches to his chest and one to the jaw shouting, “you selfish bastard you leave me here on my own to die a slow, miserable, death eaten by turtles.” Scowling, Shelby fell back into the wet sand and held her hand over her mouth to muffle her nervous laugh at the turtle comment.
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