Post by Mysti on Jul 8, 2007 8:16:25 GMT -5
This is a story about a man who was extraordinarily lucky. It is also about a man who was extraordinarily unlucky. Strange that these two opposites could be encompassed in the same body. However what fate sometimes decrees cannot be put aside or lightly brushed off. It is something which appears to catch up with us and lift us to the clouds at moments when we least expect it, and equally to dump us sprawling into strange unwholesome places seemingly without rhyme or reason. And fate was about to take a strong hand in the future of the young man who walked, one long sumnmer's evening picking his way carefully to the beach along a path baked into ruts by the alternating rains and hot sunny weather between.
"Lovely evening, Salter," he heard the cry off to his left. It was Elisa. He waved vaguely in her direction and uttered a cry halfway between a greeting and a grunt. They had been very intimate friends but had had a falling out a while ago and hadn't been in touch for a while. The last thing he wanted to do this evening was spend an awkward conversation full of reproach with her. As he hurried along the path, he saw from the corner of his eye that she had hesitated and showed signs of following him.
"Salter, We need to talk...." She called something else he did not hear. He cursed fate for putting them in the same area and put on a burst of speed. Waving a vague hand in the air in her direction. "OK. Goodbye for now!" He heard, and breathed a sigh of relief. "Goodbye!" he called
"Catch you later!"
Being willing to be a bit more positive now the danger had passed. When he was sure she was out of sight, he slowed down and stopped to mop his face. The speed he had employed to make his getaway, along with the cool mugginess of the late summer evening had raised a thin sheen of sweat on his face, and his clothes felt a little damp.
He rested for another moment and then set off at a little slower pace. Soon the dried rutted mud of the path gave way to sand which gradually grew deeper and started to seep into his boots as he made his way. Now he heard the rush and ebb of the tide and smelled the salty tang of the sea. The tide was still coming in. He was in time. He heaved off his heavy rucksack and started preparing his camp a little beyond the high waterline for he planned to stay the night. Quickly with experienced hands he set up his small tent behind a sand dune to protect it from the fresh breeze that had sprung up. Next he prepared and ate his evening meal of heated up stew and ate it on a couple of slices of fresh bread he had bought from the bakers in the village that afternoon. Licking his fingers he pulled a can of beer from his small cooler box and sat contentedly sipping it as the sun began to set casting bars of gold and red across the rippling sea.
Occasionally he raised a pair of binoculars to his eyes and scanned the surfline for what he was expecting. Probably nothing would happen though until it became darker. He decided to sleep for two or three hours. After all tonight would be a long night. Before stretching out in his tent he checked his equipment, lights, infra red camera batteries. Then he lay down and quite soon he was snoozing quite peacefully.
And it is at times like this, when we are most at peace with ourselves and with the world that we are most off our guard. Complacent and believing that the world is completely as we see it, until one day something changes that forever and we are cast into a different world, one which does not always conform to our perceptions of what a world should be.
Salter awoke with a start. The strange dream he had been having fled in shreds from his consciousness leaving him with a fleeting memory of something beautiful and yet dangerous to him like a poisonous coral to an inexperienced diver, a fantasy that was highly desirable and yet entirely terrifying, and a fading, fading face full of such love, wisdom and beauty...strange that the name Elisa came to his lips...he shook himself and the moment was gone, the dream no more. All that remained in Salter's consciousness were feelings rather than images. Yawning he stretched and turned on his flashlight to read the time. It was 3 am. He wriggled from his tent and put on a light windbreaker to protect himself from the breeze, which had become a little chilly while he slept. As he had known there would be, a huge and perfect full moon, like a big cheese, hung low over the sea bathing the surrounding area in gentle yellow light, reflected in slivers on the waves. It would be easy to see tonight. (Tonight's moon was special. Although it hung there like a giant yellow globe, it was the second full moon of the month, an event which occurs very rarely and which is called a blue moon.)
Salter walked down the beach to the sea. If he was lucky he would see this event which he had yearned to see for many years with his own eyes. The night of the sea turtles. He had been surprised to read in a book he had found in the local library that sea turtles still came to this beach to lay their eggs. Although the book had no date, it seemed to be a fairly recent book judging from its clean appearance and although the old librarian peered at it for a while and then peered at him and said she knew nothing about it, Salter concluded that it had been written by a local author and self-published. That had been when he first met her. Still thinking about the book he was clutching he rounded a book shelf and walked straight into her knocking the pile of books she had been carrying in all directions. With profuse apologies he picked up her books from the floor and handed them back to her.
"Thanks," she said, "And here's your book."
It was the book Salter had been looking at.
"What do you think of it?"
And then her eyes caught his, sea green with mysterious flecks of gold. He felt himself being pulled deeper into them like a fish caught in a clear tropical pool. But oh what a lucky fish...forever trapped in ecstacy. He heard her say something and reluctantly surfaced,
"I'm sorry. What did you say?"
She smiled,
"I said I've read it a couple of times."
"Oh it's that good, is it? I was just about to take it out, actually."
He realised he was staring at her, and then just as instantly he knew she didn't mind.
She gave her smile again, and his world suddenly seemed to gain an extra dimension, like a color blind person suddenly seeing color for the first time and marveling in its brilliance , texture and complexity.
"Well," she said. "I hope you enjoy it as much as I have. I find something new in it every time I open it up."
Her voice had a lilt he couldn't place, which added to her charming manner.
"Oh good," Salter found himself smiling in return, "That's the kind of book I like!"
"Well I'd best be going," she said looking at her watch. "or else I'll never get everything done!"
Salter realised it was almost 1.30.
"Yes, me too," He said, awkwardly
" Well it was nice talking to you Mr. ...."
"Salter" he supplied.
"Mr. Salter. I'm Elisa, just Elisa. Anyway I'd love to know what you thought of the book. Nobody else seems to have looked at it!"
Salter looked at his watch.
"Yes, well. I'd better be going now. Maybe we can talk about it sometime"
"Lovely" she beamed. "How about next Monday in the Fisherman's at lunchtime?"
The Fisherman's Rest was his local pub. "Well.." He started, not wanting to commit himself so quickly to a meeting, but she had swept off and was halfway through the door before he could think of what to say.
Oh well, he had thought. It doesn't matter. I don't have to turn up. However he tried to bury the feeling though he knew that he would be there. He would not be able to help himself.
A loud splash brought Salter back to the present. He scanned the moonlight drenched surf for its source. It wasn't long before his heart gave a leap. Something was moving in the shallows, something very large and slow. He quickly moved nearer, although not to near to frighten whatever it might be.
Laboriously, expending huge amounts of effort the giant form dragged itself clear of the surf. It was huge. Salter had never imagined that it could be that size. If he had lain on its back with outstretched arms he would not have been able to reach the sides of this majestic creature. He watched in awe as, steadily, the turtle dragged itself up the beach, its flippers making dull scuffling sounds as they drove through the loose sand.
Salter watched its progress for ten minutes, marvelling at its stamina and power before it finally stopped in a natural hollow and began to scrape the sand away with its front flippers, pushing it behind with its rear ones, scooping out a hole in which to lay its eggs. Finally the turtle settled down and Salter knew that it was laying its eggs. He crept up behind the turtle and peered into the hole. Already a number of greenish white eggs lay there, and more and more poured from the turtle's body, Then the act of birth was finished and wearily the turtle gradually emerged from the hole using its back flippers to shovel sand over its eggs as it did so. Finally there was nothing much to see except freshly dug sand. Slowly the turtle began its return journey to the beckoning surf.
The perfect evening would have been complete without the noise of revving motorbikes approaching.
Cursing, Salter looked along the shore. There he saw the bobbing lights of the motorbikes approaching and he could hear the drunken riders as they yelled obscenities to each other.
Soon they would be here, and Salter had already seen what had become of some of the turtles who did not make it back to the sea before these mindless morons had come upon them. He silently vowed that it would not happen to this turtle, who he had already unconsciously adopted.
The animal only had 20 feet more to go, and that added to the fast rising tide might allow it to escape before the motorbikers arrived. Salter stood anxiously watching its agonisingly slow process. Making a decision he picked up a stout branch and walked down to where the turtle was.
If the turtle noticed him it gave no sign. Its instincts and its tiredness told it only one thing: to get back to the safety of the sea promptly. It continued shuffling to the surf where it beckoned just a few feet away.
At a loud yell, Salter saw that the bikers had seen him and the turtle and were heading his way. He was getting scared now. Heart beating a little faster than before he cast a glance at the turtle. Another five minutes and it would be safe. The water was tantalisingly close now.
But sadly Salter saw that it would still be too late. The bikers were already upon them. As they saw the turtle they whistled! Salter heard some cries of "let's get us some supper!" The bikes had stopped now and the riders dismounted. Slater saw that some of the riders were very unsteady on their feet as they fell off rather than dismounted from their bikes. More than one of them held what looked looked like iron crowbars in their hands.
Despite a certain feeling of foreboding, Salter shouted at them,
"I am from the Marine Preservation Society! Don't you know it is a crime to hunt anything in this area!"
A tall and rather gangly legged man wearing leathers adorned with chains and medallions that clinked and jangled started walking towards Salter flanked by two others, Salter could smell the stench of unwashed bodies and alcohol in the air along with a fragrant smoke which he assumed must be cannabis.
"We're not hunting, are we grandad?"
He spoke with a sneer in his voice which was matched on the faces of his two cohorts.
"So why don't you fuck off from our camp site, eh?"
"This isn't your camp site" Said Salter clearly. "It's public land."
"Yeah that's right. And we're the public and this is where we're camping tonight"
Salter couldn't fail to pick up the threat in the leader's voice. He glanced around, and saw with relief that the turtle had finally made it to the sea and was swimming away tiredly.
He had given the turtle its chance. He was ready to go now.
"OK, he said turning around, "I'll go".
He didn't see the blow, and it smacked into the side of his head. Another smashed into his stomnach and as he wheezed and bent over a knee smashed into his nose. He fell over and felt kicks on his sides and back.
The three louts were laughing and they beat him. A foot glanced off his head. He saw stars and began to feel great fear. He protected his head with his arms and rolled up as small as he could get. He closed his eyes tight fearing the worst. And then he felt, rather than saw what happened next.
Although his eyes were closed, a brilliant flash of light penetrated them. He heard through his aching ears a sudden burst of a strain of some kind of music. Eldritch and unearthly was the only way he could describe it. As the music continued it seemed to weave a strain of something indescribable in his head. He thought he heard screams and shrieks, high pitched, unnerving. He felt dull thuds through the sand and a whoosh of heat. He realised that the kicking had stopped.
He was about to look up when he heard a light footfall by his head. Fearing the worst, he cowered.
Instead of blows though he felt a feather touch on his body. Wherever the touch passed, he was instantly healed and a great sense of well being began to flow through him. It was though his body had not only been healed but also renewed. He felt light, and energetic.
A singing voice filled with calm and love sounded on his right
"Awaken now. Tis safe thou hero of the eve. Thanks to thee, she is saved"
Salter opened his eyes and looked up. Then he gave a start!
He was lying by his small tent. The huge moon which had hung like a promise over the sea had gone, and in the east there was a faint glow of dawn approaching. The tide had risen and was falling again leaving the beach clear. His camp was just as it had been before, and of the louts and their bikes, there was not a sign.
Salter got up. His body felt perhaps a little stiff from lying all night in the sand, but there were no signs of any injuries. Had it all been a dream? But it had seemed totally real to him. He walked on to the beach following the receding waves. The sand was smooth and wet. Here and there small crabs scuttled back and forth on their unknown errands. Mounds of sand marked the spots where some burrowing creature or shell had retreated below to cooler, damper places as the tide went out. The fresh tangy smell of salt and sea wrack lingered in the air, and a gentle breeze blew. All in all it was a lovely morning to be at the beach.
Salter walked all the way to the waterline but could see no sign of any of the events of the night before. He scanned the beach from one end to the other, but as far as he could see, he was the only one there. The only footprints were his. Shaking his head, he began to walk back to his camp at the treeline.
A figure suddenly appeared by his orange tent and waved at him.
It was Elisa. Unlike yesterday, Salter now had the strong desire to be with someone, to confide the strange and unsettling dream he had had. He waved back and headed for the camp with renewed speed. He was looking straight ahead of him as he walked, his attention on Elisa, who seemed to be shouting something. He was straining to hear her and so didn't see the rock that he stubbed his toe on!
He cursed. His big toe throbbing. He glanced down and was surprised to see it was not a rock he had stubbed his toe on. It was something metallic buried in the sand. There was a glint of silver. His curiosity was half stirred. What could it be?
He started at a light touch on his shoulder. He turned. It was Elisa.
"Salter," She began.
"Hello Liz," Said Salter. "You know I had the strangest dream last night. It was so real. Some motorbikers were here and..."
Just then he looked into her eyes and strangely felt himself falling into the green and gold pools as he had before in the library. He trailed off in mid sentence.
"What's wrong with your foot?" Elisa asked with concern.
Salter suddenly came back to his senses. "There were some bikers here, and a bright flash and then they disappeared."
Elisa looked at him a little strangely.
"You know I thought I just saw a motorbike exhaust pipe buried in the sand. That's what I banged my foot on..."
Elisa was looking a bit worried.
"Are you OK Salter?" She asked.
Salter was beginning to feel stupid now. Elisa was right. What a ridiculous story. Eliza bent down and dug with her hands for a moment. Then she tugged at something and pulled it from the sand. It was silver and rounded. It was a tin can, presumably buried by some camper.
"Was this what you hit with your toe?" She held it up.
Now Salter began to feel really silly. His throbbing toe told him it had hit something really hard and heavy, not just an aluminium can. There was nothing else to be seen though.
"Come on, Salter" Said Elisa. "I'll help you pack up and get home."
Tiredly he followed her up the beach.
-end of part one-
"Lovely evening, Salter," he heard the cry off to his left. It was Elisa. He waved vaguely in her direction and uttered a cry halfway between a greeting and a grunt. They had been very intimate friends but had had a falling out a while ago and hadn't been in touch for a while. The last thing he wanted to do this evening was spend an awkward conversation full of reproach with her. As he hurried along the path, he saw from the corner of his eye that she had hesitated and showed signs of following him.
"Salter, We need to talk...." She called something else he did not hear. He cursed fate for putting them in the same area and put on a burst of speed. Waving a vague hand in the air in her direction. "OK. Goodbye for now!" He heard, and breathed a sigh of relief. "Goodbye!" he called
"Catch you later!"
Being willing to be a bit more positive now the danger had passed. When he was sure she was out of sight, he slowed down and stopped to mop his face. The speed he had employed to make his getaway, along with the cool mugginess of the late summer evening had raised a thin sheen of sweat on his face, and his clothes felt a little damp.
He rested for another moment and then set off at a little slower pace. Soon the dried rutted mud of the path gave way to sand which gradually grew deeper and started to seep into his boots as he made his way. Now he heard the rush and ebb of the tide and smelled the salty tang of the sea. The tide was still coming in. He was in time. He heaved off his heavy rucksack and started preparing his camp a little beyond the high waterline for he planned to stay the night. Quickly with experienced hands he set up his small tent behind a sand dune to protect it from the fresh breeze that had sprung up. Next he prepared and ate his evening meal of heated up stew and ate it on a couple of slices of fresh bread he had bought from the bakers in the village that afternoon. Licking his fingers he pulled a can of beer from his small cooler box and sat contentedly sipping it as the sun began to set casting bars of gold and red across the rippling sea.
Occasionally he raised a pair of binoculars to his eyes and scanned the surfline for what he was expecting. Probably nothing would happen though until it became darker. He decided to sleep for two or three hours. After all tonight would be a long night. Before stretching out in his tent he checked his equipment, lights, infra red camera batteries. Then he lay down and quite soon he was snoozing quite peacefully.
And it is at times like this, when we are most at peace with ourselves and with the world that we are most off our guard. Complacent and believing that the world is completely as we see it, until one day something changes that forever and we are cast into a different world, one which does not always conform to our perceptions of what a world should be.
Salter awoke with a start. The strange dream he had been having fled in shreds from his consciousness leaving him with a fleeting memory of something beautiful and yet dangerous to him like a poisonous coral to an inexperienced diver, a fantasy that was highly desirable and yet entirely terrifying, and a fading, fading face full of such love, wisdom and beauty...strange that the name Elisa came to his lips...he shook himself and the moment was gone, the dream no more. All that remained in Salter's consciousness were feelings rather than images. Yawning he stretched and turned on his flashlight to read the time. It was 3 am. He wriggled from his tent and put on a light windbreaker to protect himself from the breeze, which had become a little chilly while he slept. As he had known there would be, a huge and perfect full moon, like a big cheese, hung low over the sea bathing the surrounding area in gentle yellow light, reflected in slivers on the waves. It would be easy to see tonight. (Tonight's moon was special. Although it hung there like a giant yellow globe, it was the second full moon of the month, an event which occurs very rarely and which is called a blue moon.)
Salter walked down the beach to the sea. If he was lucky he would see this event which he had yearned to see for many years with his own eyes. The night of the sea turtles. He had been surprised to read in a book he had found in the local library that sea turtles still came to this beach to lay their eggs. Although the book had no date, it seemed to be a fairly recent book judging from its clean appearance and although the old librarian peered at it for a while and then peered at him and said she knew nothing about it, Salter concluded that it had been written by a local author and self-published. That had been when he first met her. Still thinking about the book he was clutching he rounded a book shelf and walked straight into her knocking the pile of books she had been carrying in all directions. With profuse apologies he picked up her books from the floor and handed them back to her.
"Thanks," she said, "And here's your book."
It was the book Salter had been looking at.
"What do you think of it?"
And then her eyes caught his, sea green with mysterious flecks of gold. He felt himself being pulled deeper into them like a fish caught in a clear tropical pool. But oh what a lucky fish...forever trapped in ecstacy. He heard her say something and reluctantly surfaced,
"I'm sorry. What did you say?"
She smiled,
"I said I've read it a couple of times."
"Oh it's that good, is it? I was just about to take it out, actually."
He realised he was staring at her, and then just as instantly he knew she didn't mind.
She gave her smile again, and his world suddenly seemed to gain an extra dimension, like a color blind person suddenly seeing color for the first time and marveling in its brilliance , texture and complexity.
"Well," she said. "I hope you enjoy it as much as I have. I find something new in it every time I open it up."
Her voice had a lilt he couldn't place, which added to her charming manner.
"Oh good," Salter found himself smiling in return, "That's the kind of book I like!"
"Well I'd best be going," she said looking at her watch. "or else I'll never get everything done!"
Salter realised it was almost 1.30.
"Yes, me too," He said, awkwardly
" Well it was nice talking to you Mr. ...."
"Salter" he supplied.
"Mr. Salter. I'm Elisa, just Elisa. Anyway I'd love to know what you thought of the book. Nobody else seems to have looked at it!"
Salter looked at his watch.
"Yes, well. I'd better be going now. Maybe we can talk about it sometime"
"Lovely" she beamed. "How about next Monday in the Fisherman's at lunchtime?"
The Fisherman's Rest was his local pub. "Well.." He started, not wanting to commit himself so quickly to a meeting, but she had swept off and was halfway through the door before he could think of what to say.
Oh well, he had thought. It doesn't matter. I don't have to turn up. However he tried to bury the feeling though he knew that he would be there. He would not be able to help himself.
A loud splash brought Salter back to the present. He scanned the moonlight drenched surf for its source. It wasn't long before his heart gave a leap. Something was moving in the shallows, something very large and slow. He quickly moved nearer, although not to near to frighten whatever it might be.
Laboriously, expending huge amounts of effort the giant form dragged itself clear of the surf. It was huge. Salter had never imagined that it could be that size. If he had lain on its back with outstretched arms he would not have been able to reach the sides of this majestic creature. He watched in awe as, steadily, the turtle dragged itself up the beach, its flippers making dull scuffling sounds as they drove through the loose sand.
Salter watched its progress for ten minutes, marvelling at its stamina and power before it finally stopped in a natural hollow and began to scrape the sand away with its front flippers, pushing it behind with its rear ones, scooping out a hole in which to lay its eggs. Finally the turtle settled down and Salter knew that it was laying its eggs. He crept up behind the turtle and peered into the hole. Already a number of greenish white eggs lay there, and more and more poured from the turtle's body, Then the act of birth was finished and wearily the turtle gradually emerged from the hole using its back flippers to shovel sand over its eggs as it did so. Finally there was nothing much to see except freshly dug sand. Slowly the turtle began its return journey to the beckoning surf.
The perfect evening would have been complete without the noise of revving motorbikes approaching.
Cursing, Salter looked along the shore. There he saw the bobbing lights of the motorbikes approaching and he could hear the drunken riders as they yelled obscenities to each other.
Soon they would be here, and Salter had already seen what had become of some of the turtles who did not make it back to the sea before these mindless morons had come upon them. He silently vowed that it would not happen to this turtle, who he had already unconsciously adopted.
The animal only had 20 feet more to go, and that added to the fast rising tide might allow it to escape before the motorbikers arrived. Salter stood anxiously watching its agonisingly slow process. Making a decision he picked up a stout branch and walked down to where the turtle was.
If the turtle noticed him it gave no sign. Its instincts and its tiredness told it only one thing: to get back to the safety of the sea promptly. It continued shuffling to the surf where it beckoned just a few feet away.
At a loud yell, Salter saw that the bikers had seen him and the turtle and were heading his way. He was getting scared now. Heart beating a little faster than before he cast a glance at the turtle. Another five minutes and it would be safe. The water was tantalisingly close now.
But sadly Salter saw that it would still be too late. The bikers were already upon them. As they saw the turtle they whistled! Salter heard some cries of "let's get us some supper!" The bikes had stopped now and the riders dismounted. Slater saw that some of the riders were very unsteady on their feet as they fell off rather than dismounted from their bikes. More than one of them held what looked looked like iron crowbars in their hands.
Despite a certain feeling of foreboding, Salter shouted at them,
"I am from the Marine Preservation Society! Don't you know it is a crime to hunt anything in this area!"
A tall and rather gangly legged man wearing leathers adorned with chains and medallions that clinked and jangled started walking towards Salter flanked by two others, Salter could smell the stench of unwashed bodies and alcohol in the air along with a fragrant smoke which he assumed must be cannabis.
"We're not hunting, are we grandad?"
He spoke with a sneer in his voice which was matched on the faces of his two cohorts.
"So why don't you fuck off from our camp site, eh?"
"This isn't your camp site" Said Salter clearly. "It's public land."
"Yeah that's right. And we're the public and this is where we're camping tonight"
Salter couldn't fail to pick up the threat in the leader's voice. He glanced around, and saw with relief that the turtle had finally made it to the sea and was swimming away tiredly.
He had given the turtle its chance. He was ready to go now.
"OK, he said turning around, "I'll go".
He didn't see the blow, and it smacked into the side of his head. Another smashed into his stomnach and as he wheezed and bent over a knee smashed into his nose. He fell over and felt kicks on his sides and back.
The three louts were laughing and they beat him. A foot glanced off his head. He saw stars and began to feel great fear. He protected his head with his arms and rolled up as small as he could get. He closed his eyes tight fearing the worst. And then he felt, rather than saw what happened next.
Although his eyes were closed, a brilliant flash of light penetrated them. He heard through his aching ears a sudden burst of a strain of some kind of music. Eldritch and unearthly was the only way he could describe it. As the music continued it seemed to weave a strain of something indescribable in his head. He thought he heard screams and shrieks, high pitched, unnerving. He felt dull thuds through the sand and a whoosh of heat. He realised that the kicking had stopped.
He was about to look up when he heard a light footfall by his head. Fearing the worst, he cowered.
Instead of blows though he felt a feather touch on his body. Wherever the touch passed, he was instantly healed and a great sense of well being began to flow through him. It was though his body had not only been healed but also renewed. He felt light, and energetic.
A singing voice filled with calm and love sounded on his right
"Awaken now. Tis safe thou hero of the eve. Thanks to thee, she is saved"
Salter opened his eyes and looked up. Then he gave a start!
He was lying by his small tent. The huge moon which had hung like a promise over the sea had gone, and in the east there was a faint glow of dawn approaching. The tide had risen and was falling again leaving the beach clear. His camp was just as it had been before, and of the louts and their bikes, there was not a sign.
Salter got up. His body felt perhaps a little stiff from lying all night in the sand, but there were no signs of any injuries. Had it all been a dream? But it had seemed totally real to him. He walked on to the beach following the receding waves. The sand was smooth and wet. Here and there small crabs scuttled back and forth on their unknown errands. Mounds of sand marked the spots where some burrowing creature or shell had retreated below to cooler, damper places as the tide went out. The fresh tangy smell of salt and sea wrack lingered in the air, and a gentle breeze blew. All in all it was a lovely morning to be at the beach.
Salter walked all the way to the waterline but could see no sign of any of the events of the night before. He scanned the beach from one end to the other, but as far as he could see, he was the only one there. The only footprints were his. Shaking his head, he began to walk back to his camp at the treeline.
A figure suddenly appeared by his orange tent and waved at him.
It was Elisa. Unlike yesterday, Salter now had the strong desire to be with someone, to confide the strange and unsettling dream he had had. He waved back and headed for the camp with renewed speed. He was looking straight ahead of him as he walked, his attention on Elisa, who seemed to be shouting something. He was straining to hear her and so didn't see the rock that he stubbed his toe on!
He cursed. His big toe throbbing. He glanced down and was surprised to see it was not a rock he had stubbed his toe on. It was something metallic buried in the sand. There was a glint of silver. His curiosity was half stirred. What could it be?
He started at a light touch on his shoulder. He turned. It was Elisa.
"Salter," She began.
"Hello Liz," Said Salter. "You know I had the strangest dream last night. It was so real. Some motorbikers were here and..."
Just then he looked into her eyes and strangely felt himself falling into the green and gold pools as he had before in the library. He trailed off in mid sentence.
"What's wrong with your foot?" Elisa asked with concern.
Salter suddenly came back to his senses. "There were some bikers here, and a bright flash and then they disappeared."
Elisa looked at him a little strangely.
"You know I thought I just saw a motorbike exhaust pipe buried in the sand. That's what I banged my foot on..."
Elisa was looking a bit worried.
"Are you OK Salter?" She asked.
Salter was beginning to feel stupid now. Elisa was right. What a ridiculous story. Eliza bent down and dug with her hands for a moment. Then she tugged at something and pulled it from the sand. It was silver and rounded. It was a tin can, presumably buried by some camper.
"Was this what you hit with your toe?" She held it up.
Now Salter began to feel really silly. His throbbing toe told him it had hit something really hard and heavy, not just an aluminium can. There was nothing else to be seen though.
"Come on, Salter" Said Elisa. "I'll help you pack up and get home."
Tiredly he followed her up the beach.
-end of part one-