This Week's Theme:
"a letter arrives from an old circus performer who has found an undiscovered island"
Week: Zero
Due Date: January 5, 2009
Circus Performer
Joey Lewandowski
Hello Friends!
I realize it has been some time since you all have last heard from me, but I can assure you it is not on account of laziness or ill will or anything of the like. No, rather it is of a much grander and intriguing reason.
As you can surely remember, my departure from our traveling corps of entertainment providers was not as smooth as I would have liked it to have been. (But what can you hope for when you’re thrown from your trailer by Scruffs? Anyway, I digress.) This forced exit made me question the choices I’d made.
Yes, yes, I know it all sounds rather cliché – a sudden change of life forces someone to re-evaluate the choices they’ve made, blah blah. However, it truly was one of the best things to happen to me. This is not to say that it has been nothing but happiness and rainbows, mind you – the world is a cold, cruel place when your résumé’s two key elements are: works well with animals and has an uncanny sense of balance.
I traversed the country, picking up odd jobs here and there. I was barely able to make scratch but managed to do so primarily through the resourcefulness my time with the troupe instilled. Things looked bleaker every day, though, as this new technological age made itself more prominent with each passing minute. It seemed as though there was no place for a lion-tamer-turned-drifter to make a living.
However, that’s when I found it! A flier offering the chance for unimaginable wealth and excitement. Surely, I thought, this must be some kind of a scam. Yet when things turn dark, even the surest of trickeries offer hope for a brighter day. The flier was vague and the only instructions were to meet at the docks, prepared to leave for a six-week journey, yet it was enough to pique my interest.
I gathered my belongings (meager as they are, for being a drifter forces a more… condensed lifestyle) and headed to the docks. I arrived at sun-up to a small gathering of crew and fellow adventurers (we numbered under a dozen) and aided in the loading of cargo onto a smallish tugboat. Perhaps tugboat isn’t a fair word – I feel it depicts a less appealing and endearing vessel, which this ship surely was not. Maybe it would be more adequate to say the seacraft was of tugboat size.
There were hardly any words spoken as we loaded the ship. I reckoned that this was mostly on account of the mysterious nature of the thing, but in retrospect, I feel that the mystery would have prompted more discussion. Either way, we were loaded and adrift before the cock crowed. I still didn’t know the true nature of our venture, but with nothing better to do from day to day, I figured a change of scenery would be nice.
I settled between two scraggly men who also appeared to have embarked alone. I silently wondered if they lived like me, yet opted to stare into the morning’s haze over the western sea. The man to my right fell asleep shortly after we left the shore, and the combination of his hefty snore and wobbling head made it impossible for me to follow suit. My fellow drifter to my left rifled through a battered deck of cards over and over as though he were memorizing their contents. I don’t know why he did this, and I did not ask.
Several hours later – sometime around noon I imagine from the sun’s position above our ship – a man emerged from the ship’s cabin. He walked with a purpose to the ship’s bow and cleared his throat.
“Welcome to my ship,” the man said. His voice was hoarse yet easily understandable. “I’m sure you wonder why you’re all here, as I would be in your situation. It has come to our attention that we have a grand opportunity for wealth and fame.
“You see,” he continued, “it was no more than a month ago that I had hauled in the season’s final shipment of fruit from South America. Knowing a long winter was surely ahead, I kept my ear open for opportunities that would afford both an income and a sense of adventure. Sure, there were odd jobs to be picked up here and there, but nothing of substance. That was, however, until I found myself sitting at McGill’s Pub a fortnight ago. I overheard a few fellow sailors talking about how there was so much uncharted water that they never even thought about setting course for.
“I returned to my home that night with this idea in the back of my mind. I wouldn’t say that it was something that really caught my ear when I heard it, but the more I went over it in my mind, the more I realized that there was an opportunity for me there. How many sailors, I thought, stuck only to the routes they performed each haul? Why does no one stray from their routine? Never one to pass up an opportunity for wealth or excitement, I arose the next day and compiled all the maps I had access to. At first, nothing of interest made itself apparent, but the more I looked at these maps, I realized there was a tiny area of… earth… not adequately mapped.
“So with that, I planned to set sail and began posting the sheets you all heard about our expedition from. I do not know whether we will find anything or, perhaps more frightening, everything, but I did know it was something that needed to be done.
“I do not apologize if this adventure was not what some of you had hoped. There is no secret gold mine we are traveling to that will surely make you all rich; rather, this is an adventure that could make us rich in mind and spirit – and, perhaps if we’re lucky, financially as well, har har.”
And with that, he headed back into the cabin. I looked to the man on my left and noticed he had dropped the deck of cards he had moved on to shuffling. He seemed slightly confused but mostly irritated, as though he had been duped into leaving some grander life back on land. Aiming to avoid any ill will he may have, I turned to the man to my right.
He was asleep yet again.
* * *
We continued to sail for the better part of a week. The only thing that was in fewer supply than things to entertain ourselves was conversation; it became evident that no one on board, save for the captain and his first man, knew each other before setting sail and no one seemed interested in getting to know one another. I was fine by this development, for as you know, the life on the road is one of loneliness and solitude.
Shortly after sun-up on what I counted was the fourth day of our journey, the captain re-emerged and announced that we would be reaching the unmarked area later in the day. This was the first bit of excitement we had had since the captain’s original proclamation, and it raised our spirits considerably – or, at least, it did mine.
The ensuing hours were the longest of our journey. I guess I hadn’t expected to find anything until the captain suggested we would, so I had no needs to get excited or anticipate anything. However, after suggesting we were nearing our destination, every passing minute felt like an hour and every hour felt like another day had been added to our trip. I grew anxious for the first time in… I cannot even say how long, for my landlocked life was not stressful or worrisome in any way. We had seen nothing but water for the majority of the trip, so I felt it was safe to reason that any land we saw in the approaching hours would be the “unmapped” land we so desperately sought.
The rest of the ship’s hands had seemed as anxious as I was after the captain made his announcement, yet now everyone seemed dejected and hopeless. We had sailed on for several hours with no changes in our surroundings.
However, just as I heard murmurings of mutiny (and believe me, this was not the first time I had heard such talk on this journey, but it was for sure the first serious time), the shouted words “LAND HO!” seemed strangely out of place and wholly unexpected. It caught us by surprise and it took me a minute to fully recognize the impact of this proclamation.
I will save you all the boring details of our approach and embarking of this island. Suffice it to say that the island could have been the most uninhabitable place on Earth and we would have been more than pleased to set foot on it.
But friends, this island… it is truly remarkable. I do not believe I could fully do it justice in describing it in this letter. Though probably untrue, it seems untouched by human hands and is filled with a pristine natural beauty that is unrivaled. I have decided that it is better to spend my unproductive life’s time here.
I do not know what the delivery boy who I have entrusted this letter to has told you of what happened to the rest of the crew, or how a letter even made it to you from a deserted island. Allow this to be my final point.
Upon setting foot on the island, the crew in its entirety was overjoyed, as I mentioned. So happy to be on land once again, the lack of unique or remarkable features on the newly discovered land was overlooked. As time went by, however, many of those who landed became restless and ached to return to their “normal” lives of drifting and begging and accepting odd jobs. A few of us – four to be precise – far preferred our new lives on the island, so we decided to set up our own colony here. It is uncertain whether we will ever return, which is why I am sending this letter. Though my involvement in your troupe ended several months ago, you all are the last people I know who would need to contact me. Should you, for any reason, need to get in touch with me, head to Arborville and ask for Captain Ethans. If you are unable to find him, I’m sure a quick visit to McGill’s Pub will do the trick.
With love,
Bozo