Young Writers Society

*I know the plot is weak, any tips would be greatly appreciated.

For the sake of three weeks, the island served as a haven, though I knew that I would most likely go out of my mind were I to reside there indefinitely. It was to be expected that I would run out of places to explore eventually; the island only had so much physical space to offer. But, in a way, it didn’t need the space. I knew I was romanticizing, as I so often do, but at the time, that didn’t matter. Once I’d gotten used to spending my days there, I slipped easily into the very breeze which crossed the land and sea so freely.

Of course, magic only appears when people are comfortable in their land and in their skin. I was surprised at how quickly the magic shed its rubber-soled shoes and cloak, and began spending time with me, showing me such wonders as I never could have hoped to see alone.

The sea was reminiscent of the Mediterranean, a bright turquoise, studded all over with evasive, miniscule diamonds. Before it lay a silken expanse of white sand, again sprinkled with silver.

There were vast green spaces, and fields for the cows which lowed placidly by the fences, and the sunsets were like nothing I can ever hope to see again, masterpieces of crimson, gold, pink, and palest blue. Just one glance at it and you felt like you’d been given the most precious gift you could receive, like a private viewing of a celebrated artist’s newest work, though even that couldn’t ignite the soul and cleanse it with liquid light as this sunset did.

As the time passed, my ear and my mind and my tongue began to relax to the language, until it was almost an effort to speak what I regrettably admitted was my first tongue. First in my mind, but not in my heart. It was my stay which turned the fondness into mad, passionate love, which ingrained me in it, and it in me.

But then, that’s not really so difficult. I know how easy it is to get tangled up on places and people. It was those three weeks more than anything which proved that to me.

There was a sort of freedom in the air. Every time I breathed in, I took in the culture and the pace of life. I could lie on cliffs, the cold rock against my wrists, and peer down at thick folds of white foam, lashing against the base, and be certain that I was in flight.

But, however glorious, freedom can have a damaging effect. It takes you a little bit out of your logical mind. You’re so convinced that the magic will see you through, so convinced that you’re somehow separated from reality, that it doesn’t even cross your mind to protect yourself against the fall.

Maybe it was the fact that I was surrounded by ocean, removed from sense. Maybe it was too much sea air. But, whatever it was, I allowed myself to be caught like so many fish. Ironic, when freedom was so nearly in my grasp.

At first I’d just pass him on the road. As we became familiar sights to each other, we’d offer a slight nod, or a flicker of a smile. But, one day, the cycle was broken. He must have allowed himself to sink into Distraction’s clutches, because he beamed broadly at me and said hello. His accent meant that I had to strain my ears to decipher his words. His voice was more musical than some of the others to whom I had spoken. The mechanics of language, over which I had slaved and agonised for weaks, were invisible inside his words.

Automatically, I smiled and returned his greeting, before carrying on, with a vague golden joy swarming around inside of me for a reason which I couldn’t quite name.

The smiles and greetings continued through the days, getting broader and longer respectively as time passed. He was starting to occupy more and more of the room in my mind, stretching out on the couch with his hands behind his head, moving my goals and my focus, so that he had more space to lounge around.. Of course, I attributed this to Fate rather than weakness, strangely peaceful as I was at the time.

One day, when our paths crossed (inevitable, given that the island only had one road), he held the conversation for longer than usual. As it petered out, he gave a lazy smile and asked me if I’d like to join him for dinner.

I was too free to think about it. I accepted, my shining eyes giving me away and making me intensely vulnerable.

It was beautiful, more relaxed than I would ever have thought possible. We munched companionably, and exchanged snippets of our life stories. I didn’t notice it at the time, but he was weaving himself into me, until I could have sworn blind that we shared a connection which lay a little beyond the realms of the definable.

I’ve always been somewhat cynical with regard to love. I’m not sure that romantic love exists at the best of times. It’s just used to make basic desire respectable. But, as we went bike riding together, and picnicked at Poll na bPeist, and watched the azure claws of the ocean drawing the tired sun to it, I felt a sort of bond developing. I’d tell him things I’d never told anyone, as best I could, given my lack of fluency. (He, of course, had perfect English, but I was determined to put my Irish into practice, and there seemed to be no better time, and no better person.)Somehow, my stories would just drip out of me. Strange for one who usually guards her secrets so well. He’d tell me things too, and make me feel special, though I never told him that.

I didn’t notice the irony of taking pleasure in a sinking sun. One morning, I arrived at our meeting place to find it deserted. I waited like a fool for hours, looking utterly ridiculous, as it is very difficult to pretend to be doing something other than waiting for someone when you’re standing beside a crumbling stone wall with only the cows for company.

Eventually, I turned around and began the slow walk back to my lodgings, hoping that I’d run into him on the way, though deep down I knew that he just wasn’t coming.

In the pub that evening, I overheard two old men talking, in Irish, of course, but I could make out snippets of what they were saying; “Gone back to the mainland, he is. You know him. Nothing can convince him to stay in any one place for longer than two minutes”.

And still I lay awake that night, obsessing over what I could have possibly done to make him leave without saying goodbye, while simultaneously loathing my pitiful state. It seemed that I hadn’t been as free as I’d thought.

Suddenly, the air was so much damper, the skies greyer, and the sea around me seemed to trap me as opposed to offering me sanctuary and freedom as it had before. The next day, I left for home on the first boat I could get, leaving what was left of both the magic and my spirits behind me.