Castaway Writer

Life on a deserted island

There are many writers on the sea. Some of them have large luxurious boats, some of them have medium-sized boats, and some of them have tiny itty bitty boats.

Matoskah’s boat was not much bigger than a rowboat. Sometimes he dreamed of having a bigger boat but mostly he was quite content living alone on his little boat. He spent his mornings writing then in the afternoon he would go fishing for dinner.

The species of humans known as Writers lived on the sea apart from all other human species. Every one of them had a metallic pod attached to a rope that was slung over one’s shoulder. The waterproof pod was the device they used to write with. By inputting a pin number on the outside of the pod, the pod would open up to reveal a small keyboard and screen. One of these pods was slung over the shoulder of every writer. The only times they were taken off were for bathing, swimming, or engaging in sex.

Once a month most all of the writers would sail their boats to a certain small island where there was a long pier jutting out into the island’s harbor. The writers would dock their boats to the pier then walk down the pier to a large luxury yacht docked at the end of the pier. This yacht was owned by Stephen Kingfisher, one of the most powerful writers on the sea.

Known as the Kingfisher Gala, the event celebrated the most popular writings on the sea. There was music and dancing as well as a delightfully delicious buffet. After partying for most of the day the writers would then gather on the deck of the yacht as Stephen Kingfisher sat on a chair on a little makeshift stage. He would open his writing pod then read his stories to the crowd. After he finished each of his stories he was met with thunderous applause that echoed throughout the harbor. Everyone loved his stories.

When Mr. Kingfisher was finished reading his stories he would invite a handful of other writers onto the stage to read their stories. Many writers submitted their stories to him in hopes of being picked to follow him on stage. But out of hundreds of submissions he only picked a small handful to be read by their authors from the stage.

Stephen Kingfisher was very picky when judging stories. They all had to be similar and formulaic. They all had to follow the basic rules that were taught in writing school while growing up. Nothing radical was allowed; nothing that deviated from accepted norms.

When Matoskah wrote stories he constantly deviated from the norm. He avoided the norm like the plague. So he never bothered to submit his stories to Mr. Kingfisher, knowing that they would be rejected. The truth is that he almost never shared his stories with anyone. It was not just a fear of rejection and ridicule that kept him from sharing his stories, though. He did not write for an audience but rather for his own pleasure. To him, writing was a very personal thing. (He was not very popular among the writer species.)

After one particular Kingfisher Gala Matoskah returned to his little boat in a disappointed mood. None of the stories he had heard impressed him. They were all so similar and boring. As he unmoored his little boat he pledged to himself that in the morning he would write a crazy story that would break every writing rule there was.

Matoskah’s boat was slowly leaving the harbor when a larger boat came speeding up from behind. It side-swiped his boat damaging one side of the boat. The larger boat circled around and came back to Matoskah’s boat.

A beautiful woman came out onto the deck of the larger boat and called out, “Are you alright? I’m so sorry.”

“I’m okay but my boat is damaged. It’s starting to take on water.”

The beautiful woman briefly disappeared but then returned with some rope, one end of which she threw down at Matoskah, “Tie this to your boat and I will tow you.” She then dropped a rope ladder down the side of her boat. “Come on over to my boat and I’ll provide you with shelter until you can get your boat fixed.”

Dripping water onto the deck, Matoskah held out his hand to the beautiful woman, “I am Matoskah. Thank you so much for helping me.”

“It’s the least I can do after smashing into you. I’m Daniella.”

“Hello, Daniella.”

For almost a month Matoskah lived on Daniella’s boat. He slept on the deck under the stars while she slept in her cabin. He did not get much writing done because he was so busy fixing his boat. He also spent more time fishing. To repay her kindness he was fishing for two now.

After a couple of weeks the boat was almost fully repaired. On a warm and muggy evening Matoskah was preparing to go to sleep on the deck when he heard his name called out.

“Matoskah! Could you come into my cabin for a minute?”

He walked down the four steps to her cabin door and entered. To his surprise he saw Daniella standing in the middle of the cabin completely naked except for her writing pod hanging from her shoulder. He was overcome by her raw beauty.

Slowly and very seductively, Daniella took off the writing pod and set it on a table.

He knew what that meant. He took off his writing pod and then his clothes and before he knew it he and Daniella were making love like a couple of bald eagles twirling through the sky.

From that night forward Matoskah slept in the cabin instead of on the deck of Daniella’s boat. They really hit it off.

A couple of weeks later after dinner one evening Daniella was serving brandy and coffee on the deck.

“To encounters on the sea,” said Daniella as they clinked their brandy snifters.

After a long silence during which the only sound was the water lapping up against the boat Daniella spoke up, “Can I ask you a favor?”

“Uh… sure… you’ve been so kind to me and… uh… I like you so much. Sure. Name it.”

She pointed at his writing pod, “Can I read some of your stories?”

Matoskah was overcome with dread, “What?”

“Can I read some of your stories?”

“Uh… oh… well… uh… I guess so.” He slid the shoulder strap off his shoulder, punched in the pin number to open the pod then handed it to her.

As Daniella sat back in her deck chair and began reading, Matoskah lit a cigar which he smoked while sipping brandy and coffee as he looked out over the endless sea.

About thirty minutes later Daniella slammed shut his writing pod and threw it at him. He barely caught it.

“What a load of crap! Didn’t you go to writing school? Your stuff is just way, way too weird! I can’t be with someone who writes like you do. Is your boat fixed yet?”

“Uh, yeah. I finally got it fixed yesterday.” (It had actually been fixed for over a week.)

“Come morning I want you off my boat!” Daniella grabbed the bottle of brandy and went inside her cabin, slamming the door shut behind her.

Matoskah slept alone on the deck that night.

The next day Matoskah was in his boat drifting over the sea. Daniella’s boat was already out of sight. He kept thinking about her and became sad every time he did. But then as he looked out over the water he was invigorated. It was good to be on his own again.

Scanning the horizon he saw that there was a tiny island up ahead. He knew most all of the islands in the area but he could not remember ever seeing this one before so he headed toward the island to get a better look at it.

Soon, he noticed that his boat was taking on water; not much but enough to be concerned. Apparently, his repairs did not hold.

The closer he got to the island, the more water came rushing into the boat. Eventually he jumped overboard and began swimming toward the island pulling the boat behind him.

On the beach he collapsed onto the sand. He was exhausted and out of breath. He soon fell asleep.

When he awoke he stood up and looked at his boat. It appeared to be unfixable. He quickly realized that he was stranded on a deserted island.

Great, he thought to himself. Now all I need is a soccer ball.

After sleeping on the beach that night Matoskah discovered the next day that the island was not deserted.

Behind the beach was a string of hills that had horizontal ridges across them. Looking at them he saw what appeared to be caves. Shelter was what he was looking for so he grabbed his stuff and hiked up the hills. For someone who had lived his entire life on the flat sea hiking up a hill was not easy.

When he got to a ridge line he noticed that there was a dirt walking path along the ridge — a dirt walking path that had footprints on it. Looking all around him, he carefully began walking the path.

Coming to a hole in the rock he looked out at the sea. What a great view this place has, he thought.

He then walked into the cave and stopped short when he saw a beautiful woman standing in the middle of the cave.

“Oh… uh… hi there. Please excuse me for barging in like this. I got stranded on this island and I’m just looking for some shelter. I’ll be on my way.”

The beautiful woman spoke, “There are plenty of other caves down the path.”

“Thank you. Bye.” Matoskah could not help but notice that the beautiful woman had a writer’s pod hanging on a strap hung on her shoulder. At least she was of the same species as him.

Matoskah found a small unoccupied cave and settled in. He had never lived in a cave before. After all, he was not a bear. It was not easy to acclimate to his new living conditions and he ended up spending much of his ‘at home’ time just outside the cave on the ledge where he could look down at the beach and out over the sea.

One morning he was sitting on the ledge, his back against the rock of the hillside, writing on his writer’s pod. He was writing a love story about a beautiful woman on a boat. It did not have a happy ending.

Taking a deep breath, he looked up for a moment and saw a beautiful woman walking the beach. It was the beautiful woman in the cave that he had barged in on. She was wearing nothing but a bikini — and, of course, her writer’s pod. She was simply gorgeous!

He could not take his eyes off her. He noticed that as she walked the beach she would occasionally bend down and pick up something and put it in a little pouch that she was carrying. Some kind of food perhaps? He kept watching her until she was out of view then he closed his writer’s pod. He was no longer in the mood to write.

Matoskah did a lot of exploring those first couple of weeks on the almost deserted island. He found a fresh water source nearby as well as some mango trees and banana trees. Fishing from the beach was not the same as fishing from a boat and that took some getting used to. He also began dismantling his wreck of a boat for firewood.

The beautiful woman who lived in the nearby cave was always on his mind. He would see her occasionally but always from a distance. He really wanted to get to know her and eventually he came up with a plan.

One day after he was finished with his morning writing he got his coffee cup and followed the ledge over to her cave. Stepping into the cave, he called out, “Hello? Are you here?”

After a moment of silence the beautiful woman suddenly appeared from the back of the cave, “Yes?”

“Uh… hello… uh… I’m sorry to barge in again but… uh… I was wondering if I could borrow a cup of sugar.” He held out his coffee cup.

“Oh. Sure.” She took the cup and disappeared into the back of the cave. A moment later she returned and handed him the cup which was now filled with sugar.

“Oh… oh my… uh… thank you. Thank you so much. I really appreciate it. Uh… I guess I’d better go and leave you in peace. If there’s ever anything I can do for you, don’t hesitate to ask. Thanks again.”

He was about to turn and leave the cave when the beautiful woman spoke, “I am Penelope but everyone calls me Penny.”

“Oh… well nice to meet you, Penelope. Everyone?”

“Well, that is what my family and my husband called me.”

“Family? Husband?”

“Yes, they all died in a horrible boating accident. I was the only survivor and I ended up washing up on this island. I’m just a castaway.”

He smiled, “My name is Matoskah.”

“What a beautiful name. So, Matoskah, would you like to come over to my cave tonight for dinner? I’m having sushi and seaweed salad.”

“Yum, that’s my favorite. I’d love to.”

To be continued… Read Part 2 here — Part 3 (Conclusion) here

Copyright by White Feather. All Rights Reserved. This is a work of fiction.