The concrete island

Everyone knew the island just off the city mainland, yet it was quite wild and rarely visited; in fact, you might say it had simply been ignored for many years. At least one dinosaur lived there and, although I saw her almost straight away, somehow I knew how to keep safe or, rather, not to attract attention to myself. I didn’t freeze, hide or run; I just allowed myself to blend in with the feel of the place. Much of the island had lush green vegetation, although wide paths here and there allowed access. In fact, on closer inspection there were vestiges of human habitation; not the remains of fires and meals, but concrete overgrown and cracked with age. I was drawn to a part of the island just over the next ridge and around the corner of a hill, but when I got there I found a small river gushing out of the side of the hill and spilling through a wide concrete gully and along the back of a jumbled row of tall, semi-derelict buildings. Everything was broken by wild vegetation. I remember thinking “perhaps the island isn’t so remote after all”. From the back of one these buildings, someone leaned out of a window and started retching gently, almost respectfully as if they honoured the place but simply could not hold back their vomit. When it came up coloured a smooth, bright duck-egg blue I was somewhat surprised and wondered what they’d been eating.

The concrete island

Dave Everitt

Melton Mowbray, United Kingdom

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Adapted from a dream, 9 Oct 2010

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