For four years I had my island. "Mine." The sight of anyone else in that barren place a chronic surprise, but one that always made me feel like the odd-woman-out. My property had been cheap and it didn't look at the water; the house I'd patched together was not(more) much. I could feel everything that the residents said about me, although they never said it to my face.
I could have stayed there forever, broke and cold as I too often was. The island was the first thing that felt like mine, it was the most free air I'd breathed. Bought-and-paid-for land, my own trees made into the wood that forming my walls.
That island was on the British Columbia coast. They ('they' as in pamphlets, the tourist trade, who knows who) call it the Hawaii of the North. Which is fucking ridiculous. Hawaii is Hawaii, and Hawaii is Hawaii because it is not in the goddamned north. This was a rainforest coastal island, with a wide shallow beach going out a mile, and hard angry rocks that fed on boats. In summer I'd walk that beach, drinking vodka directly from the bottle like springwater, knowing I had the luxury of time needed for epic, demolishing highs. And I'd walk through sand that glittered like diamonds and talcum, splintered carbon bled dry. In winter the storms made you want to hug God for comfort. Snow would block the windows and door. My entrance was an interior door but it was all that I had. I painted it with two coats of green and it didn't help keep out the chill. I didn't have any of the right tools or the right techniques but as long as I had a fireplace, blankets, and the cast iron pot - fuck everybody.(less)
Love, stay with me, stay
here, with me
You will not want, though
you want for someone, even now, but
no, you will not want for
(more) anything, love, if you stay
forever, love, is a long time
to long for
There are gun turrets surrounding my island. There is a fortress on my island made of pure iron with a moat of boiling acid. My chamber is in the topmost floor of the fortress on my island. The room is pitch black and large enough to fit only my curled up(more) body. No sound enters my chamber and no air. There is no need for breath in a universe without change. And so I remain, untouchable and alone.
So, it's a typical morning to work. I am standing on the island platform waiting for the metro. I have a tendency to watch the stairs as I have this morbid fascination of people falling. I think it stems from my love of Wild E Coyote.
(more) I hear the distant roar of the metro approaching. I watch as people rush down the stairs to make the metro. Rushing for the metro is a sport in Montreal. The determination on those attempting to make it to the island platform is comical. If only people put that much effort into something that really matters.
So, here comes Janice. I'll call her Janice, because she looks like a Janice. She has three bags, a large back-pack making her look like the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles' long lost auntie. She comes around the corner with the look of panic on her face. She may miss the metro! The metro had now peeked its head through the tunnel opening. Janice has about 15 seconds to get down the stairs.
Walking down stairs is an art form, some do the hop, some do the fox trot and others do the "Maniac" down the stairs. Janice chose the Maniac, but alas, her little legs could not keep up with the momentum of her upper body. She tried to catch herself as she started to skip steps two at a time as she started to lean over to one side. I watched in pure glee.
Janice did a large swan dive off of the seventh step and landed with a big thud on her side. As her body crashed onto the island platform her bags scattered as she clutched one tightly towards her core. An escaped apple rolled towards my feet.
With current wounds my place in this world is a cold one. One that is not empty, but everything that exists in it feels distant, and unobtainable. I am alone in this place, and island in a frozen blizzard-ridden bay. The trees are frozen, the ground is frozen. I(more) am barely thawed. Soon the cold will freeze more then my skin. When it freezes my muscles I will not move; When my stomach freezes I will not eat; when my brain freezes I will not think. But when my heart freezes, I will not love. I will not love. And I will shatter. (less)
"Get out," I demanded. My brother looked at me, aghast.
"What did you say?"
"Get out!!" I repeated, more forcefully. Honestly, he could be so thick sometimes.
He threw a glare over his shoulder and stormed out of(more) the room, slamming the door behind him.
Now I was alone.
The way I've always liked it.
I know that they say that no man is an island, but I try to come close. I am an island.