The throbbing lump on my wave tossed head was painfully sore to the touch as I struggled through stinging eyes to bring the blue green horizon into focus. It was like awakening from one of those dreams and not knowing where you were for a second. Only this was no dream. I was really bleeding from my head, this was really a mouthful of sand and salt and, there was really nobody else here with me on this chunk of barren sand, only this photo in my sand bag sack of a pocket. I could not remember the first thing, only the tumbling pummeling waves, bright flashes, and the slow trickle of air in my clogged mouth, and this photo, my man Friday, the only other soul on this island. I wondered if it were me, in happier times, at a dance, on the boardwalk, the mall, anywhere but here. But I couldn't be sure, the furious  lashing ocean never let up to cast a reflection of my face, only a fractured shifting silhouette against cloudless sky. I wish I were him right now, somewhere warm, safe and far away. 

Anonymous