Hop on Board!
Feb 5, 2023 10:14:16 GMT -5
Post by Radrook Admin on Feb 5, 2023 10:14:16 GMT -5
Hop on Board!
by
Radrook
Armando Cuevas, a tall, sun-tanned, muscular, young man of 23, from Barcelona Spain, had been unconscious for two hours after his yacht was wrecked, forcing him to float at sea for hours before having reached the island's shore. He had lost consciousness, but was now regaining his senses, albeit coughing up sea water and feeling nauseous. But despite his physical discomfort, survival was uppermost in his mind.
After all, this was the Pacific Ocean, dotted with many small islets on which it was very easy to become stranded, and to even die without the rest of the world ever taking any notice. Besides, he had no friends or family, and would not be missed. Maybe his fellow-workers at the fish processing facility back in Barcelona might. But only for a day or two, since they would assume that he had simply quit. After all, he had always been griping and threatening to leave suddenly someday, and they seemed to take his threats seriously.
The important thing now was to survive. To move inland, maybe find a cave or a grotto. Build a fire. Or else make a shelter from branches and leaves, near a source of fresh water. Yes, he had basic survival skills that could see him through the crisis. Maybe if he held on just long enough, and built a large fire, he could catch the attention of some passing cruise ship.
He considered these things as he sat struggling to overcome vertigo, Then, he rose to his unsteady feet and headed towards the lush vegetation of what appeared to be part of the island's rain forest some three hundred meters from the shore. There were coconut trees, and fallen coconuts littered the surrounding areas. After finding a rock and puncturing some, and drinking his fill, he settled back against a tree-trunk to rest. Luckily he had not suffered any broken bones of other such serious injury which could become worse and ultimately might cost him his life.
Night was slowly arriving, and the sun's half-disk was gradually disappearing below the distant sea horizon. The stars were dotting the sky like diamonds embroidered into black satin cloth. He sighed deeply at the majesty of it all, and suddenly felt humbled. Gradually due to exhaustion, he began drifting into sleep. But not before he had seen sudden streaks of light over the ocean and the sound of laughter looming and then disappearing into some nebulous distance.
"Hey buddy, buddy! Wake up dude!" the voice was that of a teenager who was holding a large silver surfing board under his left armpit.
"Are you OK Dude?" the kid asked
Armando had been having trouble shaking off the drowsiness, and was imagining himself back on his yacht that had just sunk several hundred meters off-shore. He had been reliving those last moments just before the ship's bottom hit something. How? He didn't know. The day had been crystal clear, no fog, and the horizon had been revealing no island at all when suddenly all hell had broken loose. Then slowly it dawned on him where he was and what had happened.
"Thank God this is not an isolated island!" Armando blurted out as his eyes focused on the red-haired, skinny, freckled-faced kid in blue swimming trunks.
"No dude! There are plenty of other people here. But none in your condition. What happened to you man?" the kid said, leaning on the top edge of what seemed like some kind of a large, silver surfboard he had propped upright up on the sand.
"Oh, just a shipwreck. I guess I sailed my yacht too close to the coral reef, and the hull was punctured. Barely made it here alive!"
"That's good dude! Well, I gotta go.
"Armando could not believe his ears. The kid was just going to leave him there?"
"So your just going to walk away and leave me here?" Armando asked, as he came to his unsteady feet.
"Leave you here?" the kid responded as he turned around to face Armando.
"Yeah leave me here! Wasn't that what you were just about to do?
"So you want a ride?" the kid said, gesturing towards his surfboard,.
This comment only served to anger Armando. Why was this kid mocking him? What right did he have to be taking his predicament so lightly? As if it were some kind of a joke? But just to humor him, he said:
"Yah! I want a ride!"
"Then get on the back of the board and hold on!" the kid responded smiling broadly. He was a red-haired freckled faced kid who somewhat resembled Alfred E. Newman, and this made taking him seriously even more difficult. But he would go along with the charade, and then tell the kid exactly what he thought of his attitude.
He noticed for the first time, just how different the surfboard looked. It appeared to be made of highly polished silver. It was also a bit too wide and too long to be a regular surfboard. Armando hesitated.
"What's the matter, you scared?" the kid asked, his deep-sea, blue eyes gazing at Armando with a benign amusement.
"No need to be!" he added confidently, "I'll take her low altitude steady and slow." and offered an outstretched hand of assistance. Thinking he was joking, Armand accepted the invitation. The surf board felt cold to the sole of his naked feet, and it seemed to be vibrating gently. Then suddenly, it elevated, hovered at about two meters, and began traveling over the sand at approx. 30 mph.
"What the hell is this?" Armando shouted while holding onto the kid for dear life!"
"You really don't know?" the kid asked, after glancing back at him mischievously.
"Know what? Dam-it! Spit it out!" Armando shouted.
"Where exactly do you think you are, dude?"
For a split of a second, Armando seriously considered wringing the kid's pencil neck. But at the velocity they were traveling, he would probably suffer serious injury himself.
"On an island in the South Pacific! That's Where?" he said as confidently as he could.
"But on what planet?" the kid mumbled as if an afterthought.
"Stop this contraption right now! "Armando shouted, fearing that he was with some maniac maybe leading him to be slaughtered somewhere by the rest of his maniac friends."
"No problem dude!" the kid said and gradually brought the board to a halt just two feet above the sand and letting Armando hop off.
"Now what kind of a question is that? Are you crazy?"
The kid suddenly stopped smiling and assumed a serious expression, as if he had been listening to instructions from some distant source.
"My apologies Armand! My intentions were not to frighten you, or cause you any type of distress. My intentions were to slowly introduce you to your new reality."
"Now what the hell do you mean by new reality?" Armand said, taking a few steps away from the kid, while struggling to control an unusually strong inclination to bolt. It was obvious that this kid was not playing with a full deck, and that he had buddies who were probably just as crazy as he was, or maybe more.
"As I said Armando," the kid continued, "we mean you no harm. But the truth of the matter is, that things are not always the way they seem! For example this place that you are perceiving as an island, is merely a portal to an alternate reality where things are not as they are in yours."
Still doubting the whole explanation, Armando decided to question instead of attempting to flee. After all, how far would he get even if he tried it? They could easily overtake him on those silver surfing boards, or some other machine at their disposal. So he would go along with the entire farce in order to buy enough time to figure things out.
"Different? Exactly in what way?" he heard himself asking in a tremulous voice. The kid smiled, and gazed at him with compassion.
"Armando! This is an alternate reality where what you wish comes true."
"Then I wish to get out of here, and as far from you as possible?"
"Just imagine Armando!" the kid continued as if Armando had said nothing at all. "...you desire a certain voluptuous woman? You concentrate and imagine her for a few minutes, and voila! She is real. You want a certain machine like this hover board, you visualize it, and it is yours. You yearn for a society in which you are being constantly adulated, praised, no matter how badly you perform as a musician, a painter, a writer? It is yours."
After remaining silent for awhile, and pondering what he had just been told, Armando finally responded.
"Thanks for the offer, but I just want a normal life. Nothing more. If I indeed can't play my guitar for shit, then I don't want you nor anyone else praising me as if I can. If the woman who is mine is mine only because she has no choice, then I don't want her. The same goes for all the other things you just said.
"Then unfortunately, Armando, for the first time in millennia, we have been wrong in our choice."
"You're damn right you have!" Armando heard himself say just before he found himself once more on his yacht and heading back home.
by
Radrook
Armando Cuevas, a tall, sun-tanned, muscular, young man of 23, from Barcelona Spain, had been unconscious for two hours after his yacht was wrecked, forcing him to float at sea for hours before having reached the island's shore. He had lost consciousness, but was now regaining his senses, albeit coughing up sea water and feeling nauseous. But despite his physical discomfort, survival was uppermost in his mind.
After all, this was the Pacific Ocean, dotted with many small islets on which it was very easy to become stranded, and to even die without the rest of the world ever taking any notice. Besides, he had no friends or family, and would not be missed. Maybe his fellow-workers at the fish processing facility back in Barcelona might. But only for a day or two, since they would assume that he had simply quit. After all, he had always been griping and threatening to leave suddenly someday, and they seemed to take his threats seriously.
The important thing now was to survive. To move inland, maybe find a cave or a grotto. Build a fire. Or else make a shelter from branches and leaves, near a source of fresh water. Yes, he had basic survival skills that could see him through the crisis. Maybe if he held on just long enough, and built a large fire, he could catch the attention of some passing cruise ship.
He considered these things as he sat struggling to overcome vertigo, Then, he rose to his unsteady feet and headed towards the lush vegetation of what appeared to be part of the island's rain forest some three hundred meters from the shore. There were coconut trees, and fallen coconuts littered the surrounding areas. After finding a rock and puncturing some, and drinking his fill, he settled back against a tree-trunk to rest. Luckily he had not suffered any broken bones of other such serious injury which could become worse and ultimately might cost him his life.
Night was slowly arriving, and the sun's half-disk was gradually disappearing below the distant sea horizon. The stars were dotting the sky like diamonds embroidered into black satin cloth. He sighed deeply at the majesty of it all, and suddenly felt humbled. Gradually due to exhaustion, he began drifting into sleep. But not before he had seen sudden streaks of light over the ocean and the sound of laughter looming and then disappearing into some nebulous distance.
"Hey buddy, buddy! Wake up dude!" the voice was that of a teenager who was holding a large silver surfing board under his left armpit.
"Are you OK Dude?" the kid asked
Armando had been having trouble shaking off the drowsiness, and was imagining himself back on his yacht that had just sunk several hundred meters off-shore. He had been reliving those last moments just before the ship's bottom hit something. How? He didn't know. The day had been crystal clear, no fog, and the horizon had been revealing no island at all when suddenly all hell had broken loose. Then slowly it dawned on him where he was and what had happened.
"Thank God this is not an isolated island!" Armando blurted out as his eyes focused on the red-haired, skinny, freckled-faced kid in blue swimming trunks.
"No dude! There are plenty of other people here. But none in your condition. What happened to you man?" the kid said, leaning on the top edge of what seemed like some kind of a large, silver surfboard he had propped upright up on the sand.
"Oh, just a shipwreck. I guess I sailed my yacht too close to the coral reef, and the hull was punctured. Barely made it here alive!"
"That's good dude! Well, I gotta go.
"Armando could not believe his ears. The kid was just going to leave him there?"
"So your just going to walk away and leave me here?" Armando asked, as he came to his unsteady feet.
"Leave you here?" the kid responded as he turned around to face Armando.
"Yeah leave me here! Wasn't that what you were just about to do?
"So you want a ride?" the kid said, gesturing towards his surfboard,.
This comment only served to anger Armando. Why was this kid mocking him? What right did he have to be taking his predicament so lightly? As if it were some kind of a joke? But just to humor him, he said:
"Yah! I want a ride!"
"Then get on the back of the board and hold on!" the kid responded smiling broadly. He was a red-haired freckled faced kid who somewhat resembled Alfred E. Newman, and this made taking him seriously even more difficult. But he would go along with the charade, and then tell the kid exactly what he thought of his attitude.
He noticed for the first time, just how different the surfboard looked. It appeared to be made of highly polished silver. It was also a bit too wide and too long to be a regular surfboard. Armando hesitated.
"What's the matter, you scared?" the kid asked, his deep-sea, blue eyes gazing at Armando with a benign amusement.
"No need to be!" he added confidently, "I'll take her low altitude steady and slow." and offered an outstretched hand of assistance. Thinking he was joking, Armand accepted the invitation. The surf board felt cold to the sole of his naked feet, and it seemed to be vibrating gently. Then suddenly, it elevated, hovered at about two meters, and began traveling over the sand at approx. 30 mph.
"What the hell is this?" Armando shouted while holding onto the kid for dear life!"
"You really don't know?" the kid asked, after glancing back at him mischievously.
"Know what? Dam-it! Spit it out!" Armando shouted.
"Where exactly do you think you are, dude?"
For a split of a second, Armando seriously considered wringing the kid's pencil neck. But at the velocity they were traveling, he would probably suffer serious injury himself.
"On an island in the South Pacific! That's Where?" he said as confidently as he could.
"But on what planet?" the kid mumbled as if an afterthought.
"Stop this contraption right now! "Armando shouted, fearing that he was with some maniac maybe leading him to be slaughtered somewhere by the rest of his maniac friends."
"No problem dude!" the kid said and gradually brought the board to a halt just two feet above the sand and letting Armando hop off.
"Now what kind of a question is that? Are you crazy?"
The kid suddenly stopped smiling and assumed a serious expression, as if he had been listening to instructions from some distant source.
"My apologies Armand! My intentions were not to frighten you, or cause you any type of distress. My intentions were to slowly introduce you to your new reality."
"Now what the hell do you mean by new reality?" Armand said, taking a few steps away from the kid, while struggling to control an unusually strong inclination to bolt. It was obvious that this kid was not playing with a full deck, and that he had buddies who were probably just as crazy as he was, or maybe more.
"As I said Armando," the kid continued, "we mean you no harm. But the truth of the matter is, that things are not always the way they seem! For example this place that you are perceiving as an island, is merely a portal to an alternate reality where things are not as they are in yours."
Still doubting the whole explanation, Armando decided to question instead of attempting to flee. After all, how far would he get even if he tried it? They could easily overtake him on those silver surfing boards, or some other machine at their disposal. So he would go along with the entire farce in order to buy enough time to figure things out.
"Different? Exactly in what way?" he heard himself asking in a tremulous voice. The kid smiled, and gazed at him with compassion.
"Armando! This is an alternate reality where what you wish comes true."
"Then I wish to get out of here, and as far from you as possible?"
"Just imagine Armando!" the kid continued as if Armando had said nothing at all. "...you desire a certain voluptuous woman? You concentrate and imagine her for a few minutes, and voila! She is real. You want a certain machine like this hover board, you visualize it, and it is yours. You yearn for a society in which you are being constantly adulated, praised, no matter how badly you perform as a musician, a painter, a writer? It is yours."
After remaining silent for awhile, and pondering what he had just been told, Armando finally responded.
"Thanks for the offer, but I just want a normal life. Nothing more. If I indeed can't play my guitar for shit, then I don't want you nor anyone else praising me as if I can. If the woman who is mine is mine only because she has no choice, then I don't want her. The same goes for all the other things you just said.
"Then unfortunately, Armando, for the first time in millennia, we have been wrong in our choice."
"You're damn right you have!" Armando heard himself say just before he found himself once more on his yacht and heading back home.