It was a fine night. A stormy, turbulent, unrestful night, darkened with fog and not the atmosphere, with bouts of violent flashes that mades the cat hide, but a beautiful night. The skies lifted the belligerent waves up high, crashing them onto the jagged rocks not unlike swords of soldiers, dead and washed away from our memories. In these nights everyone on this island would curl up in their blankets, praying that the storm would spare their wrongdoings and mistakes they made. In the miles of sparsely populated darkness, my house shone like a beacon through my dilapidated windows, cracked, ill-made, ill-repaired with duct tape through the frequent typhoons that had done worse to the poor windows than this storm could ever do. It was on this island that I lived. It was in this storm that I awoke, then hereafter, sleepless.
Perhaps the barely surviving black grass that hinges on the soil ever so tightly, was green once. I would not know, since I, the hermit, had lived on this island for decades, yet always dwelled in the basement of my wooden shack. Who would build a basement under a shack, you may ask. The naive me, 20 years ago, would have asked the same question, with the same fervor and disbelief that you have. Unfortunately, there was no rational explanation for the malady that I had. I used to write for B, a company that rewarded based on the ability for me to compose pieces based on themes. I, of course, failed to seize this opportunity, and ended up with a tray full of underachieved, stock, unoriginal articles that I myself struggled to not cringe while reading, and a trash can full of derogatory remarks that sliced, literally. I figured that I was done with this business. No more. Down to the enfer I sent myself.
The wooden floor rattled while the storm tore away. My mind started to become hazy, much like the rain. At times, violent and passionate; at times, soft and withdrawn. The missing piece in the window let in discrete drops of water that formed a small puddle, a cold reflection of myself, superimposed with the flickering old lamp I have on my desk. The surface trembled, as if in fright of the storm. I would let this small pond rest in my shack, but it nevertheless drained itself into the basement through the cracked floor, so I had to mop it up, just to see it reappear after an hour or so.
There was a path that was exactly 200 metres long, which connected my home with the shore. There would normally be wild cats and dogs that scatter around the garden which this path bore its way through, yet in this night I doubted there would be any. For whatever reason (not important), I decided to see for myself what this storm had to offer. I took out my coat, and closed the door behind me. The lights I kept on, just in case I would be lost in this dense downpour.
It turned out that my plan to seek refuge in the bask of the light from my desk lamp was futile, as I could not even keep afoot in this slippery trail in this gale. Raindrops castigated my forehead, beating on each inch of my body with mighty force. Nothing was still in this chaotic beauty of a night, while un-creation descended. I could see nothing but my feet, as I traversed through the dreary path that seemed to never end, in this night that never ended. Trees clapped in desperation as they witnessed by passing. The lone crow screamed for help in this perilous night. The garden was alive.
I knew that there eventually was an end, yet it never came. I slipped and fell multiple times, and shouted curses that were immediately silenced by claps of thunder. Unreasonable! I simply picked a random direction to continue my endeavor, for I could not tell which way was which anymore. The track curved and dwindled, until the sound of the sea itself revealed that I had reached the end. Finally.
The waves were furious and crashing, with its fury revealed every few seconds due to flashes of lightning. There was nothing in the distance, only endless darkness. The night never seemed to pass anymore. Time had stopped for me to view this battle between the sea and the sky. Alas! Finality! The symphony of nature! I applauded in this great theatre composed by myself, while, gradually, the sounds of rain were muffled, the anger of the sea faded, the strike of thunder started to weaken into a drumroll. The smite of lightning smeared out into a signal of a beacon that seemingly lasted forever... just like a desk lamp...
The night was beautiful as ever. I leaned over my dilapidated window, cracked, ill-made, ill-repaired with duct tape through the frequent typhoons that had done worse to the poor windows than this storm could ever do. I sat back, and enjoyed this everlasting storm that awakened the island, the garden, and my house.
There was a path that connected the shore and my house. Yet, I was no longer sure whether it was 200 metres long. or 300. or more. After all, the night was fine.
