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Of all the places to break down, it had to be here. A small lifeless planet of dust and rock, surrounded by a gently luminous green sea. I’m light years away from the nearest space station, let alone any other inhabited planets. This island planet is about as far from civilization as you can get these days. I panicked at first. Or at least I seem to remember panicking. It all seems so long ago, despite being just a few hours since I landed. I got on the radio straight away to report my position. I guess they heard me, but I don’t remember hearing a reply.
I can see them terra-forming this place in time. It’ll become a party resort or another landmass for wealthy business-people. I thought Earth governments were bad enough, wiping out half our fertile land to make way for more houses, but some of the alien species make us look like eco nutters. Every last space on their planet has been built on. Ok, so some of them live in hives or underground, but they seem to have no concept of the beauty of nature. They saw a profit in our own growing population and exploited it for currency. Perhaps this place isn’t so bad as it is. A wave of relaxation washes over me, like the waves lapping against the shore behind me.
They’ll come for me in time, though, which is just as well, this planet holds no food, drinkable water or shelter. With an eco-system like this, though, you’d be hard pressed to need any cover. There’s the slight sensation of sun above me, a breeze as soft as a mother’s kiss and the occasional gentle rain shower which seems to dry in seconds. Given time, I’m sure I’d get bored of the placid monotonous weather, but for now it suits me fine. In fact, I feel as if I’m becoming accustomed to it. I realise that I’ll miss it when I’ve gone.
A niggling voice in the back of my head reminds me that I might have had something to do with the craft breaking down in this place. Perhaps it’s right. I needed some time on my own, to be honest. I’d been feeling the pressure from working in that god-forsaken cargo company, facing ever tighter deadlines to deliver goods on time, coupled with the mounting paperwork from customs officials.
My ship offers some basic supplies while I wait. Food, water and a toilet are all catered for, but sooner or later they’ll run out. My guess is that the company will want their goods back, though, so it’s only a matter of time before they track me here. They’ll be more paperwork when they do. And questions; ‘Why didn’t you check for leaks before you left port?’, ‘When was the last time your craft was serviced?’ All those annoying bureaucratic types standing there with clipboards, expecting answers. The sand in front of me is littered with bits and pieces of my craft. A chair here, a makeshift table there. They won’t like me removing all these parts.
Well, let them come. Let them wave their clipboards at me. I might just decide to stay a bit longer. I look down and find a crudely shaped stick in my hands. I recognise it as part of the backup water cooler. It gleams in the hollow sun as I turn it around absent-mindedly. I place it carefully in the sand by the side of the ship and lay down, closing my eyes and listening to the soft ripple of waves on the shore.
The sound of the sea is displaced by the distant roar of jets. So they’ve come. Only 5 Earth weeks in to my stay. Impressive, I must say. I smarten myself up a little. Well, it’s only polite when you have visitors, isn’t it? I watch the small craft slowly land and several people wearing company uniform gingerly step out on to the near virgin sand. One is a tall male, looking as if he’s had too many sleepless nights, the other female, slightly smaller. They head for my craft.
I can see that they’re puzzled by the sight before them. I notice that a lot more of my craft has made it outside now. I don’t really remember moving it, to be honest. They won’t see me yet, though, I’m watching from a dip in the sand. All they seem to be doing is looking around. They start checking instruments in the craft and making notes. The man places his clipboard down in the ship and steps back outside, looking at the sea. I can see a smile starting to stretch across his face as he lays down in the sand.
The woman goes over and looks at him. She seems to be shouting, but it doesn’t seem to do any good. I can’t think why she’d want to shout in a place like this. Before long she gives up and lays down next to him. The beauty of this place gets you in the end.
How long has it been? 2 months? I don’t know. The 3 of us found a plant that provided us with food yesterday. Strange that I never came across that before. It's as if the Island is providing for us. Oh well, no one else seems to be coming yet. They will though, those who suffer and anger at their daily grind, this planet calls to them. They’ll love this place as much as I do and all of them will want to stay, forever.
I can see them terra-forming this place in time. It’ll become a party resort or another landmass for wealthy business-people. I thought Earth governments were bad enough, wiping out half our fertile land to make way for more houses, but some of the alien species make us look like eco nutters. Every last space on their planet has been built on. Ok, so some of them live in hives or underground, but they seem to have no concept of the beauty of nature. They saw a profit in our own growing population and exploited it for currency. Perhaps this place isn’t so bad as it is. A wave of relaxation washes over me, like the waves lapping against the shore behind me.
They’ll come for me in time, though, which is just as well, this planet holds no food, drinkable water or shelter. With an eco-system like this, though, you’d be hard pressed to need any cover. There’s the slight sensation of sun above me, a breeze as soft as a mother’s kiss and the occasional gentle rain shower which seems to dry in seconds. Given time, I’m sure I’d get bored of the placid monotonous weather, but for now it suits me fine. In fact, I feel as if I’m becoming accustomed to it. I realise that I’ll miss it when I’ve gone.
A niggling voice in the back of my head reminds me that I might have had something to do with the craft breaking down in this place. Perhaps it’s right. I needed some time on my own, to be honest. I’d been feeling the pressure from working in that god-forsaken cargo company, facing ever tighter deadlines to deliver goods on time, coupled with the mounting paperwork from customs officials.
My ship offers some basic supplies while I wait. Food, water and a toilet are all catered for, but sooner or later they’ll run out. My guess is that the company will want their goods back, though, so it’s only a matter of time before they track me here. They’ll be more paperwork when they do. And questions; ‘Why didn’t you check for leaks before you left port?’, ‘When was the last time your craft was serviced?’ All those annoying bureaucratic types standing there with clipboards, expecting answers. The sand in front of me is littered with bits and pieces of my craft. A chair here, a makeshift table there. They won’t like me removing all these parts.
Well, let them come. Let them wave their clipboards at me. I might just decide to stay a bit longer. I look down and find a crudely shaped stick in my hands. I recognise it as part of the backup water cooler. It gleams in the hollow sun as I turn it around absent-mindedly. I place it carefully in the sand by the side of the ship and lay down, closing my eyes and listening to the soft ripple of waves on the shore.
The sound of the sea is displaced by the distant roar of jets. So they’ve come. Only 5 Earth weeks in to my stay. Impressive, I must say. I smarten myself up a little. Well, it’s only polite when you have visitors, isn’t it? I watch the small craft slowly land and several people wearing company uniform gingerly step out on to the near virgin sand. One is a tall male, looking as if he’s had too many sleepless nights, the other female, slightly smaller. They head for my craft.
I can see that they’re puzzled by the sight before them. I notice that a lot more of my craft has made it outside now. I don’t really remember moving it, to be honest. They won’t see me yet, though, I’m watching from a dip in the sand. All they seem to be doing is looking around. They start checking instruments in the craft and making notes. The man places his clipboard down in the ship and steps back outside, looking at the sea. I can see a smile starting to stretch across his face as he lays down in the sand.
The woman goes over and looks at him. She seems to be shouting, but it doesn’t seem to do any good. I can’t think why she’d want to shout in a place like this. Before long she gives up and lays down next to him. The beauty of this place gets you in the end.
How long has it been? 2 months? I don’t know. The 3 of us found a plant that provided us with food yesterday. Strange that I never came across that before. It's as if the Island is providing for us. Oh well, no one else seems to be coming yet. They will though, those who suffer and anger at their daily grind, this planet calls to them. They’ll love this place as much as I do and all of them will want to stay, forever.
Very nice, felt just like something out of a Discworld novel, and that can only be a good thing.
I also preferred the original ending.
I also preferred the original ending.
Certainly makes sense now, but I preferred the original ending because it was subtle... sorry to be a pain. :-P
Black Glove wrote:
> Somewhat puzzled by the ending.
Thought it was clear, but I've re-read it and perhaps you're right. I've changed it slightly now. Does that seem to make more sense?
> Somewhat puzzled by the ending.
Thought it was clear, but I've re-read it and perhaps you're right. I've changed it slightly now. Does that seem to make more sense?
Somewhat puzzled by the ending.
Lovely. The story really flows well and is quite relaxing in itself. I like the way there's no speech used, it just let's the imagination create the image of the perfect island without interuption. :-)
Of all the places to break down, it had to be here. A small lifeless planet of dust and rock, surrounded by a gently luminous green sea. I’m light years away from the nearest space station, let alone any other inhabited planets. This island planet is about as far from civilization as you can get these days. I panicked at first. Or at least I seem to remember panicking. It all seems so long ago, despite being just a few hours since I landed. I got on the radio straight away to report my position. I guess they heard me, but I don’t remember hearing a reply.
I can see them terra-forming this place in time. It’ll become a party resort or another landmass for wealthy business-people. I thought Earth governments were bad enough, wiping out half our fertile land to make way for more houses, but some of the alien species make us look like eco nutters. Every last space on their planet has been built on. Ok, so some of them live in hives or underground, but they seem to have no concept of the beauty of nature. They saw a profit in our own growing population and exploited it for currency. Perhaps this place isn’t so bad as it is. A wave of relaxation washes over me, like the waves lapping against the shore behind me.
They’ll come for me in time, though, which is just as well, this planet holds no food, drinkable water or shelter. With an eco-system like this, though, you’d be hard pressed to need any cover. There’s the slight sensation of sun above me, a breeze as soft as a mother’s kiss and the occasional gentle rain shower which seems to dry in seconds. Given time, I’m sure I’d get bored of the placid monotonous weather, but for now it suits me fine. In fact, I feel as if I’m becoming accustomed to it. I realise that I’ll miss it when I’ve gone.
A niggling voice in the back of my head reminds me that I might have had something to do with the craft breaking down in this place. Perhaps it’s right. I needed some time on my own, to be honest. I’d been feeling the pressure from working in that god-forsaken cargo company, facing ever tighter deadlines to deliver goods on time, coupled with the mounting paperwork from customs officials.
My ship offers some basic supplies while I wait. Food, water and a toilet are all catered for, but sooner or later they’ll run out. My guess is that the company will want their goods back, though, so it’s only a matter of time before they track me here. They’ll be more paperwork when they do. And questions; ‘Why didn’t you check for leaks before you left port?’, ‘When was the last time your craft was serviced?’ All those annoying bureaucratic types standing there with clipboards, expecting answers. The sand in front of me is littered with bits and pieces of my craft. A chair here, a makeshift table there. They won’t like me removing all these parts.
Well, let them come. Let them wave their clipboards at me. I might just decide to stay a bit longer. I look down and find a crudely shaped stick in my hands. I recognise it as part of the backup water cooler. It gleams in the hollow sun as I turn it around absent-mindedly. I place it carefully in the sand by the side of the ship and lay down, closing my eyes and listening to the soft ripple of waves on the shore.
The sound of the sea is displaced by the distant roar of jets. So they’ve come. Only 5 Earth weeks in to my stay. Impressive, I must say. I smarten myself up a little. Well, it’s only polite when you have visitors, isn’t it? I watch the small craft slowly land and several people wearing company uniform gingerly step out on to the near virgin sand. One is a tall male, looking as if he’s had too many sleepless nights, the other female, slightly smaller. They head for my craft.
I can see that they’re puzzled by the sight before them. I notice that a lot more of my craft has made it outside now. I don’t really remember moving it, to be honest. They won’t see me yet, though, I’m watching from a dip in the sand. All they seem to be doing is looking around. They start checking instruments in the craft and making notes. The man places his clipboard down in the ship and steps back outside, looking at the sea. I can see a smile starting to stretch across his face as he lays down in the sand.
The woman goes over and looks at him. She seems to be shouting, but it doesn’t seem to do any good. I can’t think why she’d want to shout in a place like this. Before long she gives up and lays down next to him. The beauty of this place gets you in the end.
How long has it been? 2 months? I don’t know. The 3 of us found a plant that provided us with food yesterday. Strange that I never came across that before. It's as if the Island is providing for us. Oh well, no one else seems to be coming yet. They will though, those who suffer and anger at their daily grind, this planet calls to them. They’ll love this place as much as I do and all of them will want to stay, forever.
I can see them terra-forming this place in time. It’ll become a party resort or another landmass for wealthy business-people. I thought Earth governments were bad enough, wiping out half our fertile land to make way for more houses, but some of the alien species make us look like eco nutters. Every last space on their planet has been built on. Ok, so some of them live in hives or underground, but they seem to have no concept of the beauty of nature. They saw a profit in our own growing population and exploited it for currency. Perhaps this place isn’t so bad as it is. A wave of relaxation washes over me, like the waves lapping against the shore behind me.
They’ll come for me in time, though, which is just as well, this planet holds no food, drinkable water or shelter. With an eco-system like this, though, you’d be hard pressed to need any cover. There’s the slight sensation of sun above me, a breeze as soft as a mother’s kiss and the occasional gentle rain shower which seems to dry in seconds. Given time, I’m sure I’d get bored of the placid monotonous weather, but for now it suits me fine. In fact, I feel as if I’m becoming accustomed to it. I realise that I’ll miss it when I’ve gone.
A niggling voice in the back of my head reminds me that I might have had something to do with the craft breaking down in this place. Perhaps it’s right. I needed some time on my own, to be honest. I’d been feeling the pressure from working in that god-forsaken cargo company, facing ever tighter deadlines to deliver goods on time, coupled with the mounting paperwork from customs officials.
My ship offers some basic supplies while I wait. Food, water and a toilet are all catered for, but sooner or later they’ll run out. My guess is that the company will want their goods back, though, so it’s only a matter of time before they track me here. They’ll be more paperwork when they do. And questions; ‘Why didn’t you check for leaks before you left port?’, ‘When was the last time your craft was serviced?’ All those annoying bureaucratic types standing there with clipboards, expecting answers. The sand in front of me is littered with bits and pieces of my craft. A chair here, a makeshift table there. They won’t like me removing all these parts.
Well, let them come. Let them wave their clipboards at me. I might just decide to stay a bit longer. I look down and find a crudely shaped stick in my hands. I recognise it as part of the backup water cooler. It gleams in the hollow sun as I turn it around absent-mindedly. I place it carefully in the sand by the side of the ship and lay down, closing my eyes and listening to the soft ripple of waves on the shore.
The sound of the sea is displaced by the distant roar of jets. So they’ve come. Only 5 Earth weeks in to my stay. Impressive, I must say. I smarten myself up a little. Well, it’s only polite when you have visitors, isn’t it? I watch the small craft slowly land and several people wearing company uniform gingerly step out on to the near virgin sand. One is a tall male, looking as if he’s had too many sleepless nights, the other female, slightly smaller. They head for my craft.
I can see that they’re puzzled by the sight before them. I notice that a lot more of my craft has made it outside now. I don’t really remember moving it, to be honest. They won’t see me yet, though, I’m watching from a dip in the sand. All they seem to be doing is looking around. They start checking instruments in the craft and making notes. The man places his clipboard down in the ship and steps back outside, looking at the sea. I can see a smile starting to stretch across his face as he lays down in the sand.
The woman goes over and looks at him. She seems to be shouting, but it doesn’t seem to do any good. I can’t think why she’d want to shout in a place like this. Before long she gives up and lays down next to him. The beauty of this place gets you in the end.
How long has it been? 2 months? I don’t know. The 3 of us found a plant that provided us with food yesterday. Strange that I never came across that before. It's as if the Island is providing for us. Oh well, no one else seems to be coming yet. They will though, those who suffer and anger at their daily grind, this planet calls to them. They’ll love this place as much as I do and all of them will want to stay, forever.