“So this guy wakes up on the beach only to find he’s the last person alive on Earth. Of course he has to leave the beach to find this out, but, anyway, seems the rest of humanity has been wiped out in some kind of nuclear Armageddon.”
“So how did this dude on the beach survive it?” one of the surfers asks perceptively.
“Uhh, I don’t know. Sunblock maybe?
“Anyway of course he finds he’s not really the last one alive and that there are other survivors and they band together to start civilization over. There’s a love interest there too I think. So it begins at the end and ends at the beginning, y’know?”
“So that’s why you come to the beach? You sleep on the beach and maybe the rest of the world goes away?” The perceptive surfer again.
“Hey, maybe it is, maybe it’s a metaphor.” But, how to explain just how the beach mirrors my destiny, how it comforts and then torments, how it nurtures and tortures. How the surf, sand and rocks are freedom themselves, and yet the beach entraps, between the raging surf and the hard, dry world. And how it gathers the lonely and the together, the happy and the dreamers, the adventurers and the voyeurs.
“I thought this was the metaphor.” Indee interrupts my reflection, arms in the air, hands open, meaning everything around us. The gesture and her comment seem to have attracted everyone’s attention.
“What??” I have no idea what she’s referring to.
Indee looks right to left, back again, eyes shifting, faux conspiratorial, leans forward and says, hushed but loud enough for all to hear, slowly,
“The blog.”
“What blog?” I reply, genuinely perplexed.
“This blog.” Again hushed yet loud enough.
I stare at her incredulously, no idea what to say. But she and everyone else are waiting for an answer.
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9 comments:
That was awesome.
The first bit I thought I recognized via hollywood.. but the last bit, I really ate up.
By the way (creepily enough) I have actually waved my hands in the air, meaning everything around us and said to a group of my friends, emphatically, "THIS IS JUST A METAPHOR. IT'S A METAPHOR!" It was the autumn of 1999.
I want to read more. Write more.
Steve.. I really, honestly cannot place your age. You seem like this ageless barrier-crossing electronic being. Graduated in the 70's.. so twenty years older than I.. which may be fifty, which used to seem a lot older than it may have become.. when is fifty now?
PS.. why is this blog dopamine and the other one serotonin? Why?
WOW - Steve, that was FAN-F*@#ing-TASTIC! I know when I read something good because it'll leave me thinking about for hours afterward.
Ok.. my final guess:
Lets just say that Steve jumped straight from highschool into university in 1978, when he was probably 18. Therefore.. he would have been born in 1960, which would make him 45 this year.
Am I right?
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