Tag Archives: ocean

Washed Up

It happened exactly four years ago and I still have panic attacks every time that I get too close to a beach.

There were three of us: Luke, Kiel and me. Actually it should have just been Luke and me, but his girlfriend and her best friend ditched us on the last minute and so we invited Luke’s brother, Kiel, instead. Kiel was massive in all dimensions, but as shy and good-hearted as a little girl.

The sky had only just cleared up, so the sand was still moist and the beach empty except for a few swimmers at the far end. Our stuff fell in the sand, we grabbed a tennis ball and a few moments later we were challenging each other to swim deeper and deeper out into the waves to retrieve the ball. Continue reading

If we survive this night I will never again step on an island

This was meant to be our honeymoon. This was meant to be a happy time and not something like this.

We managed to reach the police but the sea is too rough and they say they can’t do the five miles from the main island in this weather. They won’t be here until the morning. They told us to just “hang in there.” I think they also didn’t take us very seriously.

Tori is sitting in the tiny wardrobe behind me. I just pray that the doors and shutters hold. I don’t know what this thing can do but it looked strong. The last time I heard it it was scratching the wall as if it wanted to climb on the roof, but I think it failed.

We saved for this holiday for two years. Two years! We both wanted it – the tropical island, all for ourselves.

This place looked as beautiful as in the prospectus. There is nothing here except this hut and a small forest of coconut and palm trees and of course the beach to all sides.

The boat brought us here around noon. The chefs stood smiling in front of the round hut with two bottles of champagne and a feast of seafood and fruits.

We sank in the beach chairs and they served us food and champagne until we were barely able to move. The whole time there was no noise except for the clicking of spoons, the small generator that supports the light and the water pump and a single power plug, and of course the waves. Those damn waves. Continue reading

The Slanted Room

On the second floor of my house is a room that I rarely use. Its back wall is slanted and there is not enough space for any bigger items such as a shelf, and barely even enough space to stand. I stack boxes in the room, but I hesitate to call it a storage room because really I could put the boxes anywhere. For me it is just the slanted room.

I suppose it was never really used. None of the previous tenants ever bothered to cover the bare heating pipes on the ceiling or the scratched wallpaper; even the light source is just a bare bulb hanging loosely from the ceiling.

And it is that lamp that bothers me. It bothers me because it doesn’t work when it should and it works when it shouldn’t. When I want to turn the light, on the rare occasions when I enter the room to grab an old sweater from one of the clothes or one of the tools that I store in the room, it always takes me at least a minute to get it to work. I switch the light on and off and on and off and on and off again and only on the fourth, or sometimes the fifth or sometimes the eighth time does it actually, hesitantly, begin to glow in a faint yellowish white. Continue reading

Peeling Skin

It was never unusual for me to get sunburn, although I have to say it was never to such an extent; it was never to an extent where my skin was glowing in a lobster-red tone. And it certainly has never peeled like this.

Back at the end of February we spent this year’s first days of sun at the beach. It was a spontaneous thing – four guys, a car, and a rented bungalow. We’d been there once before and found a quiet part of the beach where we were mostly surrounded by locals. The few other tourists were as surprised and as visible as us – the locals, mostly young men and women, were less inhibited than us to swim and sunbathe naked. Continue reading

The Last Angel

The way Darren stared at the ceiling was disturbing. I had been in the room for more than ten minutes, working my way through the usual barrage of formalities, and he had acknowledged me in words, but not in body language. His eyes stayed fixated on an unremarkable spot on the ceiling.

“I saw her on the street,” Darren began. “She was walking slowly in the middle of a crowd. The way she moved forwards, it wasn’t as if she was pushing her way through – it was more as if she was Moses separating an ocean of people, an ocean that fused right back together the moment she had passed through.”

Darren smiled. “I just couldn’t look away from her and her golden hair. Clouds were covering the sun, but still she seemed to be glowing; she seemed to be reflecting sunlight, or maybe she was emitting it herself.”

His head turned, as if Darren wanted to look at me, but his eyes were still gazing at the white paint above us. Continue reading