Waiting

I often sit here, atop the highest cliff on my island, looking out at sea. In the countless days I’ve spent here, you quickly lose track of time out here, I have yet to see a ship, even a distant one. Here there is only my island and an endless, unchanging ocean. Steep, near vertical cliffs make approaching my island a daunting and hazardous task, and I wouldn’t blame anyone for not trying. It was there I ship-wrecked so long ago. A storm unlike any I had experienced before pushed towards me the island and its cliffs. The highest peak, where I sit now, was illuminated by the lightning, and its fearsome, looming gaze would strike fear into any sailor. My boat was smashed to pieces and my crew taken to realm below. I awoke the next morning, freezing and soaked to my very bones. The storm was dying, but still a heavy rain fell and a strong wind blew. Knowing that I had to get up on dry land I began looking for a way up. As I was shaking from the cold, climbing the cliffs was no easy task. I still don’t really know how I made it here, but I did. The grass field was wet and soggy, and quickly my feet were covered in mud. I could barely feel my feet when I saw it in the distance. A small, cozy house on a green, hostile island. Could there be someone else here? I ran down the muddy hill, even fell a few times, but I made to the house. Not forgetting my manners, it’s strange how think about something like that when you are, at least you think, near death, I knocked on the door. When no one answered, I opened the door. The interior was sparsely decorated, but had all the amenities one could possibly need. Most of the furniture was covered by a layer of cobweb and dust, and what little food was left had transformed into tiny balls of mold, but there was still firewood and even some matches. I put some of the firewood in the fireplace and, using some smaller pieces of wood, managed to get a fire going. Noticing the trail of mud leading from the door to the fireplace, I decided to rid myself of my dirty clothes. I checked through the closets, and I quickly found a set of clothes that fit me. Sitting in front of the warm fire, my thoughts were constantly on who could have built a house out here. As the house was heated up, I felt myself growing ever more tired. Soon, even keeping my eyes open was tough. I let the fire die out and went to bed. The next morning I awoke as sharp sunrays struck my eyes through a crack in the wall. Opening the door, a high sun smiled softly, and a comfortable breeze caressed my face. The storm had passed. And since that day, I have waited.
I believe I know every nook of this island fairly well. I know which roots are edible, and I know those you should stay far away from. I know when a storm is on the rise, and where to seek shelter from a sudden raincloud. But I don’t know what this island is. Trees rise and die in a single day, the sky turns red for a fraction of a moment and, in the distance, giant birds roam the skies. It suddenly struck me; I haven’t seen a single living creature since my arrival here. Sometimes the very earth will rumble, but it always quiets down again. Perhaps madness is slowly taking hold of me.
Most days, though, are relatively quiet. I forage food and wood and spend my time in the wonky rocking chair reading the books the former owner left behind. The lack of human company does not affect as much as it did in my first time, where I often considered making an end to it all. I’ve sometimes stood at the very edge of the cliffs, inches away from jumping, but have always turned around. I rather enjoy the loneliness nowadays. It gives you time to reflect, time to gaze at the stars on a clear night and peace to listen to the waves striking against the cliffs. Yet I always spend at least a small portion of my day atop this cliff. Maybe because it is human instinct to look for company? Or because I am actually not as content with this place as I believe I am?
I once saw the outline of something in the horizon. Something that could have been mistaken for a ship. That was back in my “youth”, when I still had a large fire ready to light, so they would see me. Noticing I had forgotten to bring anything to light the fire with, I ran home after my last match and ran back as I swiftly as possible. I quickly managed to get the wood burning, and a huge fire lit up the noon sky. When I looked up again, there was no ship. Whatever I had seen was either out of my vision, or had never been a ship.
These ponderings are pointless anyway, no ship will ever come. But still, I shall wait.