Wake Up.


— Wake up. Please don’t sleep. The danger isn’t over.

Helplessly, I hang above my prone body, trying to communicate an urgent message to my brain. I’ve come so far, endured storms that threw me from the boat to struggle and choke in chilling water, sun that seared and flayed my salty skin, thirst that forced me to drink my own urine. My food supply was washed away even before I lost count of the days. Sometimes my grip on sanity has drifted off on the monotonous waves that can turn so suddenly into evil monsters determined to drag me down to the bottom of the sea, to become a fishes’ feast.

Yes, I’ve come so far, and survived many perils, and now, unconscious of any danger, I sleep soundly on the beach, lulled by the slipping solidity of sand, as the waves sneak relentlessly closer to me.

— Please wake up. Don’t sleep. Please.

They’re intent on stealing me away. See how they swell, snapping at my flaccid ankles. A huge breaker approaches, building in size and strength as it comes closer. Like a giant claw, it curls above my body, crashes over the whole of me, drags me toward it, shifting the fine sand, before losing its grip. In an instant I’m back inside myself. I wake as my spirit returns to that hidden place within me.

Salt water stings my eyes and burns my throat, making me retch. An urgent scrabble, on hands and knees, conveys me up the beach.

From the safety of a sand dune. I watch the ocean carry away the broken remnants of my boat.

Written for Michelle’s Photo Fiction #98.

©Jane Paterson Basil

8 thoughts on “Wake Up.

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