I have just arrived. It was an arduous journey to get here. I wasn’t altogether sure the seas would continue to carry me here, but alas, I was not swallowed up or ravaged, though I traveled many a storm. The sun always shone brighter after a storm, so sometimes I let them rage around me and waited them out, bailing a little water here and there. And the stars on the open sea! It’s glorious, I tell you!
But arrive, I did, and the ‘Medium’ Island is here, just like everyone said it would be.
The beaches looked nice enough, but there were some rough rocky edges there and I hadn’t brought any kind of climbing gear. Hell, I didn’t even have a hatchet. Just a few cans left, a backpack, and hope to shore up my spine for the crash course in Medium survival I knew was coming.
There were a LOT of people on the island. They tell each other stories. Sometimes they tell stories of stories. And everywhere, everyone talked of the sweetness of the coconuts. How many coconuts you could gather if you just put forth the effort, every day, and got better and better at looking for coconuts. And all the while, telling stories. Some people told their stories and huge crowds of people gathered and followed them everywhere they went! Those big storytellers had mounds and mounds of coconuts! People ooooo-ed and aahhhhh-ed at them! What a sight!
Some of them even burst into song — it’s getting really annoying.
I tried out some of my best stories and was met with resounding silence. Yet, every day, I got up, ventured out, told my stories, and looked for coconuts.
I began to find a few. Now and then someone would heave and ho right by me, dragging a sack so full of coconuts, you’d wonder what on earth one person would need with that many. And boy, do they like telling everyone how many coconuts they have! They stand up on these big jagged rocks and shout it out for all to hear. How many, how they got them, and where all the best coconuts are. They all seem to be shouting the same thing, but the rest of us are walkin’ round here dumfounded. Those little coconut bastards are elusive as hell!
Sometimes a wanderer passed me by, telling the same story they told me last time — looking worse for wear and very, very hungry. Those people didn’t have any coconuts.
I am told the more excited people get about your stories they may clap and dance for you. When this happens...sometimes you find more coconuts. It is all very confusing, but I tell and tell and tell my stories in all my favorite voices, and sometimes, people clap and dance.
I still don’t see that many coconuts but word has it — they are everywhere and you can have as many as you want, if you keep trying. Every day.
It’s not too bad here. I’ve made a lot of friends on the island. Some of them love my stories.
Captain’s Log: I think it’s sometime around September 2019, but I can’t be sure
Everything has changed on the Island.
Suddenly people have stopped clapping and dancing. Some are crying because they had a lot of coconuts and the tides came and washed them away. I am still doing the same thing I always was, but I still haven’t found that many coconuts for myself. It’s the same thing day in and out, but as I share my stories, I find myself growing more lonely. It’s a really hard thing to explain.
When the coconuts started disappearing, lots of people began swimming out to sea. I haven’t seen those people since. Some of them had great stories and I miss them. Maybe they went to look for coconuts somewhere else? They do float, I’m told.
I wonder sometimes what is going on out there away from the island. I’ve been here so long. My boat’s got a big hole in the side and I’m not too fond of swimming. The view here is quite lovely. Only I wish there were enough coconuts to go around. It seems if everyone had their fair share, there’d be plenty. But I am just a lowly seafarer. What do I know?
Captain’s Log: I am told it’s the year 2020
Rumor has it there’s terrible things going on out there — on those shores away from this island. They say it’s dangerous; not to try and leave. I don’t want to leave. I’d rather be disappointed where I am, with my little pile of coconuts, that to weather whatever that is out there. I hope whatever it is, it doesn’t come here.
Captain’s Log: I am told it’s still the year 2020
I don’t know who keeps the calendar here. But there’s no way it’s still 2020. People don’t seem to care much about coconuts anymore. They hug each other now and then, tell a story, then move off in all directions to stare up into the trees. It is a bit unnerving.
People are looking ragged. They mumble a lot. Things are getting rough here on the island. But I know, if I stay a little longer, maybe there will be more coconuts than I can carry. Just once. Maybe they are buried some place? That’s it; I’ll start digging in the morning, over on the East side of the island and work my way around to the other side.
That has to work.
Captain’s Log: Finally, someone said it’s a new year here so it must be 2021
I don’t even really like the taste of coconuts. Who needs ’em anyway? Turns out, it’s a whole lot funner to tell stories with a belly fulla rum. New people come every day now to the island — but we don’t tell ‘em ‘bout the coconuts anymore.
Seems we all came here to this place for diff’ernt reasons. Me? Oh, I dunno. But I’m gon’ sit right here on this here stump, have me some more rum and think about coconuts for awhile. I kinda miss those furry little bastards.
Oh! Hello! What brings you here to ‘Medium’ Island, matey? Have a seat right’chere! Go on…tell me yer story!