Shipwreck

A/N: My daughter challenged me with a set of odd writing prompts: ladders, king, elephant. Should I be worried that ended up writing something that leads to an IchiRuki AU? It's kind of creeping me out because I seriously didn't mean for it to go there at all. I am still writing Chapter 10 of 'When you mess with fate'. It should be up within the next 24 hours. I hope. I have I video to do and a performance to prepare for on Saturday. I wish my life only revolves around writing.

Warnings: It's all narrative. Run-on sentences. Could be boring. Not edited. One-shot at the moment. Not sure if I will ever expand this.

Shipwreck, I sigh. Again. In all of my time stranded in this island, this is the fifth shipwreck I've had the misfortune to witness. The worst thing about this is that there is absolutely nothing I can do about it.

A shipwreck usually happens in the middle of the big ocean. I can see it from the shore where I've made my home. I can scarcely make out the ship slowly sinking, the people on board flailing their arms before they vanish into the clear blue blanket, and the tiny boats that sail away – which I would never know if they make it anywhere (such tiny vessels against a wide, open, ferocious nature).

Today, I watch with a feeling of deja vu as the tip of the stern gets swallowed together with the rest of the fishing boat – from what I could tell, it's quite far away but I am perched on a tree branch – into its death. I can hear, in my head, the desperate cries of those who realise that their last breath awaits them at the bottom of the sea. I can feel their lungs burning as the water clogs their breathing. I can see the deception of the sunray penetrating the calm waters, so close to the surface, yet all their hands could grasp is more liquid. I can feel the worn out muscles in their legs, unable to take them higher and away from their end.

I am experiencing their pain. It is something so familiar to me. Because five wet seasons ago, I was just like them. I'm not sure if I should say I am or was lucky that that very abominable element of nature that killed the rest of my crew had washed me ashore to this island, so deserted that even the pirates don't bother to invade. I have been alone for such a long time, I don't even remember how the voice of a person talking sounds like. My nightmares only contain recordings of people screaming for help.

Shipwrecks happen like slow motion videos. But once it is over, there is hardly a clue that it has happened at all. The sea returns to its quiet state as if the floating object was never there to begin with. There are usually no survivors to tell the tale. The sea can be very greedy. It claims every inch, every pound, and every ounce of every thing it sets its mind to devour. Those who try to escape, it eventually seeks to finish them off as well.

I suppose I am lucky it has not found me. But being here in this desolation; it might as well have taken me to join my crew, my subjects. I was a king. What is a king without a kingdom to rule? What is a king without his people? What is a king without his ordained purpose?

As I climb down the ladder – which I made and hung to this tree I often use as my 'watch tower', I think about what tomorrow will bring. I check the twigs I tie together in bundles of 30s and 31s, and realise that it is the 15th day of the seventh month of my fifth year here. My year, of course – because I cannot remember the exact date I arrived on this island. I can only recall waking up to a glaring sun, my royal suit in tatters. For all I know, I could have been unconscious for several days or weeks after my ship sank.

The fifth wet season has passed three months ago. So, I will be seeing a few months of dry season ahead. It is a rather fortunate thing that I am stranded on a tropical island. I don't dare to imagine how I would survive winter without any means to make thick clothing with when there isn't even an animal bigger than the palm of my hand here. I have been wearing my inner shirt and torn khaki pants since day one. On colder days, I would look for a large thick leaf to cover from the wind. But even that does not give me much warmth.

I take a walk along the shore, picking up branches to make fire for the night. Every once in a while, I take a glance at the spot where the ship has sunken to see if anything pops up. Sometimes a chest or a luggage gets washed ashore, usually with nothing potentially valuable, unlike what we always see on TV or adventure stories children hear at bedtime.

Hmm, nothing yet, as expected, I muse. It was just a fishing boat, after all. Or it looked like one.

I reach the black spot on the sand where I always start my fire. It is also where I usually sleep during the dry seasons. I gaze up at the sky. It looks promising enough to have a show of a starry night. I close my eyes to focus on my hearing. It's a habit I have accustomed myself to every time I turn my face upwards – to listen out for sounds of helicopters or planes that might get me out of this place. There is none. As always.

I sigh. I still hope that one day I will be able to go back to my kingdom. Maybe this time I will be obedient to my parents' wish to marry and provide my bloodline with an heir or two. I am relieved, though, that I never did obey them before this. I cannot imagine how my wife and children would take the news of me being tragically killed in a shipwreck.

I put the sticks together and start a fire. I then place the small, speared stingray I caught earlier today (before the shipwreck happened) over the fire as I wait for it to cook. It is quite a rare find for me. On days like these, I'd like to think of it as a special occasion: a holiday of some sort. But thinking of those people who died today, I know this cannot be a jolly one. As I watch the flame, I say a silent prayer for them and the families they left behind.

I think of my parents – my father who thought he could retire early to travel the world with his beloved wife, and my sweet ever-loving mother who must be devastated at the loss of her only son. I think of my sisters – fraternal twins – one, adventurous like my father, and the other, domesticated like my mother. I am upset with myself for not being there to protect them. For not being able to give my infamous death glare to the next suitors that propose to them. I miss my family.

After dinner, I make myself comfortable next to the fire. As I have predicted earlier, the sky is carefully peppered by stars that will keep me company for the rest of the night. The half moon – ah, I have an obsession with that particular celestial commodity – is shyly but elegantly reigning among those diamonds. I cannot explain why; but the moon, when it looks like that, always gives me a sense of hope or something to expect.

I drift off to sleep, with a small and guilty smile on my face – guilty because I feel so bad for having a hopeful night after witnessing another tragedy of lives lost to the sea. I envisage a rescue team arriving on the island on the morrow, a search party for victims of today. What I do not foresee is that I would wake up to the sound of a tiny, raven-haired woman, clad in a purple top and a pair of blue jeans, coughing her lungs out as she gasps for air upon being swept up not five yards away from me, a soaked stuffed elephant clutched in her hand.