JOSH-OWEN.MEDIA

I, Vulture

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Firmly, the brisk cool breeze steeps from the roof of the Piedra de la reina* . It travels with

furious speed on the ground like an avalanche. The valley caught in the crossfire of the wind;

rumbles vigorously. Tones of green, blue and yellow are thrown into the air like rockets.

Trees that should stand tall and sturdy are shaken to the roots. What’s more abnormal was

the sprays of water which was carried from the summit of Piedra de la reina. 

 

The violent roars which the wind created smothered the air. It could easily remind someone

of a bear...only growling when threatened. But that didn’t stop the penetrating echo from

erupting outward. Threatened or not, wounded are not. The sky was expelling all of the

contents of it’s lungs. 

 

 

Taking all this in mind: the pernicious noise, the supernatural-like imagery. 

 

It couldn’t compare to the smell. A vile, filthy stench. It was hard to put my finger on what

it could be. The pending and intimate reek which was coming closer to myself. It was like a

bad odour,  one which left a person in shell shock. Unlike the traditional bad smells, it

didn’t feel there. In the sense it felt not like I was smelling it now. But more like I, will smell

it. It’s at this point someone can figure out what the smell is. 

Shit. 

 

Not physical, not real. It is what I will be dealing with when I get to the shore.  The closer I get to the bear the more chance it will bite. 

 

 

The wind roughly pushes me back, as does my subconscious. Trying to keep me away from the coast. Keep me away from the shore. The dock. But no matter if the deathly grip squeezed my bones, my limbs or my skin I would always be going one place.

 

That is why they desperately keep me away. Because they know that it is over. 

 

I’m coming home…

 

 

The waves pulling the vessel I stand upon closer to the place of my birth. I left the city. I’m coming home. Aqua blue stains the wooden walls of the boat. Stripping it of it’s paint. The name hope is ripped of it’s skin. And just like that, hope drowns to the bottom of the reef. The jabbing motion that the gale was producing stung my cheeks; shriveling them making my skin inflate on my bones. My eyes water, not from touchy feelings but, from the breath of the sky scraping at eyes. The cold felt like needles, the stabbing sensation, although I'd rather take the semi-tempest than the glass shards i will have to stand, walk and lay down upon.

 

 

My organ in my chest begins to beat the inside of my rib cage like a hammer to a nail. Every part of me and everything else is telling me to turn around and get this boat away from here, but I'm still going forth. A lamb walking itself to the slaughter house; knowing full well it’s fate. 

 

 

Even a bird, dark feathered and large beaked flew in the opposite direction. These birds for some reason always reminded me of myself. 

 

 

This is there ancestral home there birth place, of them all. However they only produce 10 offspring in their entire lives. And purely randomly when a chick is of a certain age they chase one of them of the island. Every family of these bird outcast one of the chicks. However, before they burn out they must fly back to the island. To lay, to rest, to die. 

 

 

No matter how hard I told myself, I knew the life cycle of these birds will be reflected in my life. My exile. My life in the city.  And now I'm back, back to my island. Back home… I just hope if I'm to die here, I go naturally.

 

I want to say of old age...but I couldn’t spend countless years in this reached inferno.

 

Closer, closer and closer the plank of wood I stood upon was to shore. The island seemed smaller than I remembered. Then again I was only a child. I used to think this was the whole world. How wrong I was. This wasn’t even a point on a pin. 

 

 

The aquamarine slowly faded into a deep gold. As the sand slowly rose and the waves slowly fell. I knew running away was not going to happen.

 

 

And like that, within twenty seconds of seeing the sand below the waves. They were above them and the foam of the split between land and water was visible. Retracting and pushing forward, the waves left the white string as an outline. 

 

 

They know it’s over now, now I do. I was home. 

 

 

There was however one more step. From the ground and me. I was stood no less a centimetre on the edge of the boat. I was looking down at a foot drop. I had a choice to leave the safety of my vessel or a situation like King Leonidas being faced with a tsunami of arrows.  I was opening myself to being skewered. If I stepped of this plank I will head to certain doom.

 

 

I just hoped that maybe; the wind could push the boat back or equally push me off my feet. 

 

 

I breathed in. And I breathed out. But that curdling sensation in your stomach you get. That’s what I had. It felt like venom. I could feel my blood boil. My veins block up. And will to look upon the island was depleting myself.

 

 

One last breath at what could be the last of the air I could take; before having to ask permission to. I steady myself and move my foot and then my feet touch the surface. The sand singed my feet. 

 

 

I was home.

 

 

But I wouldn’t be getting no welcome party. And with my last breath left from before. I said proudly  to myself.

 

    “Bring on the wolves!”

 

Piedra de la reina* The mountain which sits in the centre of the island the protagonist birth. It is Spanish for queen rock

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