Onward

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. He dragged his body across the frigid sand, his clothes dripping as light from the white flower moon glistened along their seams. The battered boat floated in the distance. Smoke poured into the crisp air. He dropped to his knees and watched the wind slip over banana leaves and prickly coconuts. Palm trees looked down over him. His hands slid through the sand beside him. Eyes closed. Heart beating. Each breath long but forced. No thoughts were needed. The boat was wrecked, but he had made it. Alone. But he had made it.

“James,” he said to himself. “Where are we?”

As James stood, sand trickled down his back onto the beach beneath him. He lifted his wrist as if half expecting to see the time. The glowing hour hand lay frozen on the ten. He looked through the palm trees and into the darkness, then turned back toward the vast ocean. A thought rushed through his mind, but before it could settle, James flicked a speck of wet sand toward the sea, raised his hand to his mouth, and stared for a moment. With one last slow blink, he turned toward the jungle.

“Onward,” he said as he pushed aside a banana leaf.