page one: kelvin

The ground echoes of a voice. The sun is setting. Maybe you’re not the only one here. What the travel guidebooks say is crap. This is far from the vacation you had in your head. How you ended up here, you don’t know. You try hard recalling. There was a raft, a bottle of pee, and that’s about it. You look around. Sand. You don’t see no raft. Sand. There’s no bottle of pee. Just you, still in your suit and heavily drenched. Head to toe. Sand. It’s getting cold, dark.

You look around again. No one. Good. You remove your suit, your tie, your shirt. You take off your pants, your boxers. And the grimy, wet socks you have on your feet. Wet skin and the air. You close your eyes, and hear the waves crash. You don’t remember a time you felt this liberated. You quickly snap back to the present- you’ll die here if you don’t do something. You’re now dry as bone, and you feel warmer, a bit more comfortable. It’s now almost pitch black, and you’re beginning to not see a Goddamn thing. The ground echoes again.

You’re not sure whether to get scared or panicky. This is too bizarre for any kind of emotion. You pinch yourself hard. Okay, so you’re not dreaming. What does one do at instinct? Flee? Maybe. You walk briskly by the shore. You then pick up the pace and start running. And faster, and faster. Just like the good old track days in school- only you had hair and your best friend slightly ahead of you. You remind yourself to snap back. And faster, and faster.

You could only go on for so long.

Slowing down, panting, you drop to the sand, doggie-style. You realize there’s no water you can drink. You turn towards the sound of the sea. If only. You chug down your saliva in vain. This has got to be some joke. You lay yourself down, the waves slapping your feet, thinking what would happen if you died right now. God wouldn’t be too happy. You wouldn’t be too happy in hell.

The echoes peal again, this time louder. So you did somehow head somewhere. Or did you? Maybe they were heading your way. You remember your clothes. Shit. There’s no one around, you tell yourself. You drag yourself into the shallow sea anyway. You’re breathing a much slower pace now. So you’re not dying just yet. Not that it makes anything better. You’re still naked and thirsty as hell. You hear the sounds again, drawing closer. And closer.

It’s time to freak out.