Island Invisable

I wake up covered in a cool layer of sweat. The ghostly pale moon shines through the small, broken window, there’s just enough light to see my surroundings. My metal wardrobe reflects the moon over the towers over my small, hard bed. And I have one desk; it’s made of oak, carved by my father. On the oak desk is a picture of me cradled in my mother’s arms, my father crouched behind, with his arms around my mother. That was a long time ago, now I’m fourteen; my mother went on a mission when I was eleven, she promised me she would come back as soon as possible, and that she would stay in touch; she wrote me a few letters, telling me that everything was fine; after a few months they stopped, I haven’t heard anything from her since.

My father died trying to save me from coming to this wretched island. This happened shortly after mother left, I came home from school one day and found two dark figures wearing long cloaks that made the night sky look brighter than day, standing on my porch; one was tall and very well built, this must have been a man due to the stubble on his chin that stuck out from under the hood, the man making the doorway look like a hobbit hole. the other was a lot smaller, the hood fell off in the breeze, she was a lady, although her face made me shiver in the warm summer sun I could see she was pretty; my father was crouched on the hard gravel floor begging for something, but his words were stolen from my ears by the gentle breeze; tears streamed down his face, I could tell by the pleading look in his eye that it was important. No one had seen me yet, so I darted into the long hedge that lined the side of the cobblestone path that led to our house. As I got closer I could hear what they said “Please” My father had begged “You can’t take my daughter away from me, Please, Please, Please!”

The man pulled out a dagger, its point looked so sharp it would cut through the air itself, from his cloak pocket, and held it up to my father’s throat, “If you try to stop us from taking her then we will not hesitate to kill you “The man had a startling low voice that boomed out across the peaceful landscape. “I will fight to my death to save her” came my father’s reply. I blinked, but when I looked again my father was flat out on the floor, a puddle of blood soaking his shirt, I screamed. Looking back now I realise that no matter what I had done I should not have let them know I was there. I had run, but the man chased after me closing in on me and grabbing me before I had taken a step. He hauled me back to his partner, I was screaming and kicking the man but the kicks had no effect. His partner treated me with kindness, holding me and gently stroking my hair, until my screaming died into small sobs. Then she carried me, I did not care where she took me nor for why she took me there, her motherly kindness warmed my heart giving me the peace and calmness that only my mother had given me before, I had been deprived of this for months and I didn’t expect to ever have it again. She gently rocked me, lulling me into a gentle sleep.

I woke up yelling for my father hoping that his death was only a dream, it had been a dream, no, not a dream, most defiantly a nightmare; playing over and over in my head.

We were on a boat, the angry, grey sea crashed against the sides, it matched my mood. The man and women sat at the front of the boat murmuring, maybe they were talking but I could hardly hear them over the sound of the stormy sea. The man got up and left, exiting into a small staircase that I hadn’t noticed before. The women turned to face me, I did not want to speak to her nor look at her face, because it painfully reminded me of the fact that my father had died that morning. Had it been that morning? How long had I been asleep? A million questions entered my mind, but who was I to ask. I did not want to speak to anyone on this boat. But the women realised that I had been wondering what was happening.

She pulled her chair towards me, handing me a picture. The picture was black and white, she was in the picture, she was about my age, she held hands with another girl, the girl looked like me, I was confused why was there was a girl that looked like me in the picture. Seeing the confusion on my face, she had given an explanation “that’s a picture of your mother and me “she said gently. My anger died, replaced by wonder, “You knew my mother? How?” I stared into her eyes realizing that they held wisdom, secrets that no one will ever know. She stared out at sea, as though watching herself in the past, remembering everything that happened, every detail, little or big. The next words she said had shocked me, thinking about it still shocks me now.