The Isle of Beguile

A cold droplet of water fell onto Holsan’s dry, slightly parted lips as he sat out on the highest cliff by the sea. This day, like every other since he had come to this (in his mind) forsaken island, was gray, hued in blue, but owned by the ashen color that strangled the sparsely diverse landscape. In this place were rocks, water, mostly decaying vegetation, and numerous dark caves. The people who somehow made a living here were not the sort that Holsan found worthy of keeping his company, so daily he ventured to the cliffs to sit, reflect, and then forget his thoughts. To watch the raging sea as it slammed into the rocks and lost its sea foam to the crevices was to watch what he lacked inside of him: a fight. Near constantly wronged was he; but he kept on with a smile, assuring himself that not everyone he encountered on this solitary island would be yet still a lash to his back.

When another icy bead of water found itself on his face, he frowned hard, causing great creases to form around his mouth and on his brow. Those he lived with would not appreciate it if he came home soaked through yet content. They wanted him dry and cracked, fastened to the quasi-existence that they walked through day to day. He turned his dark brown eyes out to the sea as the gray skies opened up and began to spill their life onto the nearly barren landscape that had been his home for five years now. Moving to this place had neither been his decision nor the decision of those who made up his life, but had been the unfortunate consequence of dealing with the Ranger, the man who roved the streets of his childhood dwelling and plucked away the insecure.

“So often you come here, Holsan.”

The femininely deep, seductive voice startled him from his reflections. Without rising from his perch, but by turning his back and craning his thick neck, Holsan turned to face a decently attractive woman who seemed to be but a few summers older than him. A smile played on her small lips and a fire danced in her eyes as the sheeting rain pummeled her exterior. Without a word, or any other acknowledgement than his brief glance at her, he turned away and began to see the frightful battle between the sea and the downpour.

“You do not find me desirable?”

He inhaled the smell of the salty waters below and the metallic odor of the wetted rocks as he closed his eyes and dug his hands into the jagged rocks on which he sat, drawing blood. “I do.”

“Then come with me.”

Holsan kept his eyes closed and further opened the wounds on his hand, relishing the pain. He was capable of feeling, as proved by his grimacing, but for this woman he would be no fool. Bringing his hands before his face, he opened his eyes and saw a momentary flash of crimson before the gray of the island and the hue of the blue melted away the color. Ragged breaths raked through his chest as he stared down at his large hands as they were cleaned by the rain, his smoky blood amalgamating with the seas he desired to be part of, down below on the rugged rocks.

“Trust me. You have no reason not to.”

She placed her hand on his back and he stiffened considerably, sitting bolt upright and not moving a muscle, even to breath. In that infinitesimal spark of time, he glimpsed a vision of what was to come should he follow her, but he forgot it before he could remember and was left there on the cliffs exposed and caught in her net.

“I will come.”

Holsan, with wounds on his hands that were erased from his mind by the cooling rain, began to climb to his feet, letting the sharp rocks on which he sat reenter his tattered flesh. And as he rose to meet her, to walk away from this basically barren landscape, off of the island on which he had been prisoner for what seemed an eternity in the five years span, he felt a mighty pressure on his side. He felt what seemed small hands and a force great enough to sweep him off his feet. He felt the pull of gravity and the weight of the rain as it seemed his body slammed into the jagged rocks below. He forgot what he felt as he slipped into the sea, being wrapped in the arms of that which he did not have.

And as his memories were erased, as he was forgotten, he remembered it all: this was life.