By Alex Charlton
The hamburgers are coming dangerously close. Tides of fast food are served on a surf of kool aid. Clown painted sharks in white aprons grin as the wide-mouthed back up against the cliff face. They scamper on arms and legs to support their large heads and even larger maws. In the distance, snake-charmer music plays in tune with the beat of the waves. On the cliff edge, I play an invisible violin for the ungrateful dead below. Without warning tongues dart up from the cliff edge, wrap around the trunk of my body, and pull me forward.
“This isn’t fair!” I yell, “I need more time!”
The tongues fling me further forward until the island is hidden behind the horizon. Adrift in hamburgers, chips, beans, kool-aid and grease, the circus waiters pick up the foggy scent of my nausea. I try in vain to eat up the fast food ocean before they can get to me, but I only succeed in making myself fatter, slower to evade capture. Once the sharks find me, they drag me down to the bottom and sing a sweet song of salvation. Down here, the water tastes like muesli, fresh fruit and vegetables, crisp and tender. I may never play the violin again.