Lee Davidson's Story

The sun hung low on the edge of the ocean, pinning light to the waves just off the west coast of Sandy Island. The days were getting the slightest bit longer and the moon hung closer and closer to the sea when it rose. Tropical flowers had been blooming on Sandy Island for a month or so, but now the scent really carried from the island outward to the sea, and for miles out to sea, one could smell the flowers of Sandy Island. Waves had gone from mild to the type of waves to wash up just past the tree-line on the undeveloped beaches of the island and to surge upwards on the seawalls around the abandoned city.

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Rigg shivered a little, rubbing the pad of his thumb against the tender dark circles under his eyes. He picked his forehead up from his desk, exhaustion heavy in his head. He slowly stood, crossing to the window of the lighthouse he’d adopted as his living space in town. He rubbed the bridge of his nose under his glasses, then let them fall back to their place. Closing his eyelids, he expected to be greeted by a blur of colour or just a tilting world some facsimile of the real one. Instead he was greeted only by blackness. He dragged his eyelids open and stood from the desk, looking out across the city from the window he had placed his desk in front of, and then slipped to the door, tugging on his suit jacket and pulling his scarf over his nose just in case it was dusty outside.
It was warm, balmy. The seas weren’t as calm as the air; heavy and grey against the sea wall. Rigg made his way down the long set of stairs to the door, which led out into the city. He pulled his scarf up over his nose, mostly in case it was dusty, partially to cover the scar on his jaw, not liking the appearance it gave him. Rigg had yet to experience others on the island, though, so he hadn’t the foggiest why he still did that. He moved through the street with the tiniest bit of grace, exhaustion coming off of him like heat. He headed toward the grocery store; needing food for the next little while.
It had been just over a week, and Rigg had his situation well figured out. He knew how to get into the lighthouse and which bits were rickety or not, and had turned the uppermost floor, one which had once been an observatory, into his bedroom of sorts, while the floor beneath, which had been where the caretaker had stayed, was a kitchen-esque area. A large grocery store which seemed, mysteriously, to be restocked every few days despite the lack of people on the island, and he knew how to get into that as well. He’d been living rather simply, but was enjoying himself, despite not being able to sleep at all while on the island. He stopped a few blocks before the grocery store at an overgrown park where the grass had grown long and the weeds rampant in the flowerbeds, the pathways leading through cracked with grass pushing up under the cement. Rigg found himself sitting on a bench, yawning slightly and pulling his scarf down from over his nose. Memory had become blurred, He scarcely remembered what other people looked like.
Colour in the sky had drained slightly to a deep violet. Rigg closed his eyes. For now, he didn’t have to worry about other people. For now he could just relax and enjoy the scent of the sea on the air.