The day that I was marooned on a tropical island by a pirate crew, in the beginning of winter, when a tempest’s uproar startled the stars and they vanished out behind a curtain of angry winds, when the sea that rested beneath the mad sky was harsh and blizzard, I held an unread book with my hands.
I had carried it through a long journey, thick as thieves, keeping it safe for a dear of mine. Unharmed it stayed with me; I had decided not to read it unless it calls for me, unread it remained.
The storm was getting incensed and I decided to find a shelter to shield myself, which I did. I laid down on my side watching the random leaps of every wave, stretching and stretching…and I fell asleep.
I remember dreaming about the sands of time unchanging. Unmoving.
I dreamt about a colorful island, a warm beach and birds singing because they like to sing. I dreamt about a silent blue sea that brought peace to me, a tranquility I longed for.
When the sun was beaten down close to the horizon, I saw a shape moving on the surface of the water, heading toward the island. Was it a ship? I asked myself, trying to focus my vision.
It turned out to be a small fish, even though I knew it was bigger from afar. I blamed the island for this magic.
I leaned down to hold it gradually. I thought of speaking to it, of kissing it. But it swum away, its shadow following its tail.
Scared of being too scary, I woke up and it was still a violent night outside my shelter.
Among all the noises outside, I heard a powerful howl, suddenly everything went quiet. I grabbed the book and stepped outside, curiosity driving me unconcerned. I looked up and saw a clear sky and limitless of shining stars, the sea was calm and the island seemed divine.
Another howl wailed from the horizon…
And the shadows of my past, of my beasts, appeared before their owner: huge and fierce, devouring what is left from the moonlight’s order, charged with ancient words that could scar every speck of beauty, and I reckoned no sense of dread while some of the shadows prowled from the trees behind me; as I have said before, I had a story in my hands. I felt the weight of the book and I knew it was calling for me.