A Fairytale Untold
By Danielle Chan
By the time it reaches seven, there is nearly no one left on this corner of the island. Those who remain are silent in awe, taking in the beauty that leaves them speechless. The sun is more than half-way through setting, though the rain clouds block whatever light is left and cast a dusty gray shade of mist and haze across the landscape. Nothing can take me away from the beauty of the seemingly mythical landscape before me.
The sky is nothing but a gradient of grey. The ocean is a dark, angry, body of crashing waves that splatter into a million drops of water upon colliding with the rocks that block their paths. Mountains curve past the horizon where the sky and ocean meet, forming dark green silhouettes that blur slightly with the light wisps of grey fog. It is not a lively painting, but rather a dull, grey one slashed with brown and green and hints of dark blue. Clouds cover the endless expanse of nothing, rumbling and whispering of the storm that had just passed. Yet, minutes later, through the stormy clouds come strips of gold and maroon, the setting sun cascading its rays down on certain regions of the ocean and lighting up the landscape with rays of shimmering fairy dust. The patches of grass still present on the barren island serve as home to small clusters of dandelions that dance in harmony with the wind. My imagination wanders to pirate ships emerging from the painting before me, their sails hoisted high against the strong winds with their golden and wooden beams glimmering despite the stormy weather. I can see the treasure chests, hidden in the crevices of the mountains, palm trees waving and shadowing the spots marked X. I dream of the little girls and boys who must have once danced on this island that formerly flourished with life, their tiny feet hopping and skipping over a thick blanket of grass.
I let my thoughts wander. The silence is almost deafening, the heavy air carrying an unnatural stillness. Yet, the peace is suddenly broken. Two seagulls fly by, squawking and joining a cluster of their siblings atop a floating sailboat. They form a chaotic chorus, squealing and calling out to more of their clan to join them. I’m almost annoyed, but I eventually come to find it a rather welcome respite from the seemingly haunting silence from before. Bullfrogs soon join nature’s orchestra, rasping and forming a steady beat of “o-rum, o-rum, o-rum” that create a distinct contrast from the rapid and light chirping of the crickets.
It is windy, strands of my hair flying as the breeze sweeps past. The breeze makes it chilly. I shiver, wrapping my bright red raincoat closer to me as I sit on a damp rock. I’m much closer to the ocean now, and with the wind comes the tastes and aroma of the sea. The air itself is salty but fresh, a combination of ocean-water and the plants growing on the sides of the island. As I take a deep breath, cold yet crisp air fills my lungs, sending chills all the way to the tips of my fingers. The salt of the sea is almost tangible on the tips of my tongue, and if I close my eyes, I can nearly taste the seaweed and clam soup – taken directly from the raging body of water before me – I’d had the night before.
The lull of the swishing grass that is so calm compared to the crashing waves form a melody that lures me in as strongly as a siren would. The cascading rays of sunlight that filter through the clouds illuminate parts of the ocean that now glitter a dangerous red amid the dark-blue ocean. This place holds a special place in my heart. This is not heaven on earth, but rather the place where all fairytale adventures take place. It is my own version of paradise, allowing me to feel what every action hero must be feeling towards the end of their journeys – a mixture of serenity, peace, and yet adventure all at once. To say it is beautiful would not define the beauty I am seeing; rather, it is a fairytale.
