Island Internal | Chapter Two

         I sat by a circular pool of bubbling water under a waterfall. The water tumbled down a fifteen-foot rock wall and, over untold years, bore a deep hole into the earth here. The water continued to flow for about five miles to the South, almost back to the beach. I felt like I was dying of thirst by the time I found it. I resisted the urge to drink on account of an abundance of caution and on account of almost immediately touching a long slimy leech when washing my face and hands.

         I am hoping the small precautions I take now save me from a bout of dysentery or malaria later. After all, I still do not know where I am. I had walked to the top of the falls. I was careful to skim the water from the surface into my cupped hands. I think back to climbing the blue hills of Massachusetts, and my dad offering that same advice. My old man is, and as far as I can recollect, always has been a security officer at the city hospital. A respectable role for the betterment of society. Not one that lends itself well to wilderness survival. It was, however, the best advice I had on the subject. Being such, I decided to act on it. I scooped water from the top of the falls little by little. It was daunting and made more so by my fiery thirst. I felt not unlike I was dousing a raging inferno with ringing out a washcloth.

         When I felt satiated, I wanted to sleep again, but I had to figure out where I was and how to get back home. I would check again to be sure, but considering the impression I got down on that beach, I got to be on a peninsula or an island. I hoped for a continent on the other side of that mountain range. To the North. I would be happy enough to fine a bridge if that’s all I can get.

         The chore ahead of me seemed daunting. I felt fine now, the water had done a fair enough job filling my stomach and curbing hunger. I knew it was not to be enjoyed long. I figured I could gather fruit, berries, maybe nuts and greens, and of course, the coconuts to get me by. I knew I would have to be cautious. If I pick from the wrong bush, or in some other way fail to use prudence, I would end up sick, diarrhea or what have you. I’d be dehydrated. I’d be toast. Oh, toast sounds good right about now.

         I walked for hours. I found a coconut, which I tried for forty minutes to crack open before setting aside for later. I tried to stay generally between the fall and the beach, close to the trail. If I keep moving around and someone knows to look for me here, they’ve have a hard time tracking down a moving target. Besides, if I wander off, who is to say I’ll find water again? Since I can’t even open the friggen coconuts, I’d die – starved in a paradise of abundance.

         There! Another winding two miles weaved back and forth across the trail from fall to beach. From beach to fall. There! About a third of a mile from the waterfall to the northwest I see little red bulbs upon a forest green bush. I gathered a pile the size of my fist. I shopped around for a few large, rigid palms. Using a little origami magic, I managed a crude basket from the material. I’d improve it later, but for now, it separated my score from contamination.

         I had foraged most of the berries on this side of the bush. I counted my haul, one hundred and twenty three berries. The overgrowth rustles. To my right, limbs and leaves shutter. Snorting. Snorting. A final snort turns into a war cry, high and whiny. I was charged by a hairy flesh packed on dense. I was uprooted. I landed hard on my side. The beast plowed its bony skull into my floating rib. I recognized form of a plump boar raging at me for a second attempt. At this moment, I thought to myself, boars are dudes. This bitch got tits. That, sir, is a sow. I hardly had the opportunity to tell myself to shut the fuck up before I was rammed a second time. The whole time, squeals. I pass out.