I like the show twilight zone so I decided to write a twighlight-zone-ish short story. This is kind of creepy, but it's not meant to be a novel-like story. Here goes...
Eternity Island
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He called it Eternity Island. I don’t know why. When I asked him he simply answered ‘Because that is what it is called.’ But then again, Donovan was a little strange sometimes. After five years, he still called me Christopher, even though I repeatedly told him that my name was Lucas. He talked strange too—he sounded as if he had come out of a Shakespeare play. Yet, despite his abnormalities, Donovan was my only friend on the whole island.<p>
It had been five years. I hadn’t seen a single human being other than Donovan for five years! When I was young I had read The Swiss Family Robinson and Robinson Crusoe. I watched the movie Castaway about a hundred times. I loved to imagine myself stranded on an island. Never in my life, however, did I guess that I would really have to survive like Robinson Crusoe.<p>
It all started when I enlisted in the army. Proud to serve my country faithfully, I boarded the ship USS Mission. It was supposed to ‘patrol the seas’ and ‘keep peace among the nations’ as Lieutenant Cornell would say. He was the last man I ever saw before my life changed completely. About two weeks into the voyage a great storm rocked our ship from side to side, sending it way off course. I was the only man on board who thought of putting on a life jacket. It saved my life.<p>
Our ship hit a submerged rock. As it sank, a muttered a quick prayer and jumped into the maelstrom of seething, foaming water. My goal—to swim as far away possible and reach land. I took a quick glance back at the ship. Lieutenant Cornell was standing on deck, staring straight at me. He pointed to the distance, in the direction that I was swimming, and shook his head as he shouted something that I could not discern. The next second a huge wave swept overboard, and I never saw him again.<p>
After swimming for hours and hours, I finally passed out. It must have about a day later that I woke up, bandages around my many wounds. Donovan healed me back to life, and since that day, we did everything together. We hunted every morning, his favorite food being wild turkey. Then we would collect water, eat breakfast, and set up the smoke signals. At the end of the day if we had time, we would work on a boat. Donovan had started this boat years before I had arrived, and even though we both knew deep down that we would never be able to sail away in it, at least it gave us something to do, and a false sense of hope.<p>
As the sun set, we would sit in our handmade chairs, watching the beautiful array of red, pink, and blue. Donovan always loved the sunset. It was his favorite time of day. He never ceased to be fascinated by it each and every day, pointing out his favorite details. “Look at that, will ye! The sky looks red as a strawberry. God’s own canvas. Yup, God’s an artist, I’ve always said.” I had never really cared much about the sunset before, but I loved his enthusiasm, and I played along. He would watch in awe as the stars lit up the sky, and every night he would say, “Imagine that. Thousands of years ago, people watched these same stars. Every day, the same stars come out to show the grandeur of our Creator.”<p>
We would talk about everything as we sat and watched the sky. He looked simple enough—a long gray-white beard came down passed his chest, while bright green eyes twinkled from his wrinkled papyrus-colored skin. Yet, in his own way, Donovan was wise. He knew many stories. I felt like a grandson listening to his grandfather’s made-up fables. He always had a different story, every night. And every story had a moral, a lesson behind it. Some were about him, perhaps partly true and partly stretched. Others were about people he knew or said he knew (like the King ghjk of Spain). All his stories had one thing in common though. They all were about bygone days. He never told modern day stories.<p>
Donovan never told me about his past life before he became stranded on the island. Sometimes he would give a hint. I got the impression that he had been a sailor of some sort. He spoke with a strong accent; I thought he sounded Portuguese or Spanish. Every once and a while I would tell him about my life. I told him about my parents in America, who probably thought that I was dead. Sometimes I would tell him about my friends. I told him about my high school, and the different ‘adventures’ I had. He always listened intensely, staring at me with a piercing gaze as I spoke. In some ways he didn’t understand many of the things I said. I could tell he knew very little about America. In other ways he seemed to understand my life better than I did. He would give me solutions to problems I had had long ago.<p>
Donovan only ever told me about one important person in his life. “Me Lovely,” he called her, “Yes, Me Lovely was so beautiful I don’t know why she ever settled for me. Her laugh could cheer ye sadness right out of ye!” He told me about how he left, promising to come back some day, with money and a job. “Never again will I see her. Never again,” he would say. I always tried to cheer him up. I would tell him how a ship was going to come and rescue us. They would see the smoke signals and take us from Eternity Island. He would see his ‘Lovely’ again. But he would only smile, and shake his head.<p>
One day, as I was fishing by the shore, I heard a strange sound so faint that I figured I had probably imagined it. I paused for a second, then returned my attention to fishing. A few minutes later, I heard the sound again, louder. This time I knew that I hadn’t imagined it. Donovan had gone back to the hut to fetch some more worms for bait. I stood there and waited, straining my ears for the sound again. The next time it came I was able to pinpoint its location. The sound seemed to be coming from a small point in the distance. After I had finished fishing, I brought back all my stuff to the hut. As Donovan wasn’t there, I ate alone, and then returned to the shore. The speck was much larger now, easily distinguishable as a ship.<p>
Could it be? Could it possibly be that this was the day we would be rescued? I jumped in excitement. The ship was drawing nearer—it had to have seen the island by now. Just in case I ran to get some more wood, and prepared even more smoke signals. I finally found Donovan collecting edible herbs by the hut.<p>
“Did you see it! Did you see the ship!” I exclaimed, pointing in the direction of the shore. <p>
He smiled sadly, “Yes I did see it. Ye—ye reckon they’ll stop here?”<p>
“I set up some more smoke signals, and they seem to be coming in this direction. I told you we’d be rescued. I told you you’d see your ‘Lovely’ again!”<p>
He only smiled again, and continued collecting herbs. The noise sounded again, this time it sounded exactly like a ship’s horn. It had to be almost to the shore by now. I helped Donovan past the hut and on to the soft sand that was now so familiar. At times he needed help walking. The ship was now so close I could’ve swum to it. A name could now be read on the side USS Rescue 1134. As the ship anchored, a small boat was sent out, two men rowing. We waited until they arrived at the shore, then the two of us approached.<p>
One of the men on the small boat smiled, “Would you like to be rescued, sir?”<p>
Tears in my eyes, and two flustered to speak, I only nodded.<p>
“Hop in.”<p>
I got into the boat, then looked up at Donovan, “Come on. We’re going home.”<p>
Donovan didn’t say anything, he simply shook his head. The two men began to row away. <p>
“Wait! What about Donovan? He needs to be rescued too!”<p>
“Who needs to be rescued, sir?”<p>
“That man,” I said, pointing at Donovan. <p>
The two men looked at each other and shrugged, “There’s no man there. You were alone on that beach, sir. You’re very tired.”<p>
I looked back at Donovan. He was smiling, tears running down his wrinkled old face, and as he looked back at me he waved good-bye…<p><p>
The ship was a rescue mission for anyone lost at sea. I had long since been proclaimed dead, along with everyone else on the USS Mission. It was strange being on a ship again. Everyone around me hustled and bustled around, performing their duties, not aware that they had left a man on the island. At first I tried pleading, shouting that there was still a man on the shore. They looked at me as if I was crazy. There was nothing I could do to convince them. Finally I just curled up in the room they had given to me, and cried silently.<p>
About two weeks later we arrived back in America. My parents, siblings, and friends were waiting for me by the dock. They all looked completely different. Though they were smiling, I could see the pain they had suffered all these years. They ran to hug me, and as their arms wrapped around me, there was a certain weakness, a certain vulnerability in each and every one of them. Perhaps five years of mourning for one who was believed to be dead had taken its toll. Life would never be the same, but I knew that I would never leave my friends and family again. <p>
Everyone wanted to know what happened…how I survived. After a few weeks however, I was left in peace. I had to find out about Donovan, I had to prove that he was real. I searched the Internet for any information about him. Finally I found a website that had information about each and every person who had been lost at see. I tried to remember his last name. He had told me once, but I just couldn’t remember it. I searched ‘Donovan’ and came up with five people. The fourth one rang a bell. ‘Donovan Anatenna,’ that was his name! I clicked on it and as I waited I savored the moment. I would finally be able to prove that he was real, that he had indeed been lost at sea! <p>
The page loaded, and read as follows,<p>
‘Donovan Anatenna<p>
1668—1692<p>
Part of Christopher Columbus’ crew. Died of a heart attack on De Fontenatte Island while the crew was getting food for the trip to America. Was buried by the crew on the island itself. <p>
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Born: Monte Maria, Spain<p>
Died: De Fontenatte Island’<p>
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When I was young I used to be scared of ghosts. I thought that they were evil, that they would kill me if they could find me. As I grew older, I stopped believing in them. I thought that they were a product of the imagination, just to scare me. But as I sit writing this story, watching the Atlantic Ocean, I remember Donovan. I have never gone back to De Fontenatte Island, or Eternity Island, as he used to call it. Sometimes I wonder what Donovan is doing. It’s late evening. The sun is setting. I know that he is watching God’s Canvas. As the stars begin to twinkle overhead I think about how he must be watching those same stars, and saying as he always did, to no one in particular, “Imagine that. Thousands of years ago, people watched these same stars. Every day, the same stars come out to show the grandeur of our Creator.”<p>
Even though I will probably never see him again, I will never forget him and the lessens he taught me. Ghosts aren’t that bad.<p>
