The music thumped in his ears, throbbing in the middle of his head, check volume, check tunes, check sorted! And ready to go. Sam reveled in his runs around the island. A battle against the heat which pressed down like a weight making his lungs burn and the sweat flow. A battle against the coral rag, the rugged twisted stones underfoot which threatened a spill or a twisted ankle for any carelessly placed foot.
Every step was plotted, every stride mapped out before him. Like a computer game he planned his moves, dipping his body, twisting his weight around. Constantly playing the game that kept his mind alert. This was no mindless plod in the park like a Sunday jogger back home. This was his challenge, his fight, his adventure. He toured the island on his runs exploring every track , every path, dead ends turned him away as the island seemed to laugh at him. Bushes whipped at his arms making his dodges more reactive and the game underfoot more intense.
He loved seeking out new corners, new places. None of the others knew anything of this. They stayed cooped up on Base, occasionally wandering into the village for some halfcakes or a chai. But otherwise these further parts were his, like a lone explorer in a new land. His runs gave him the game and the game gave him space. Here he was alone, lost in a world of paths and bushes, trails and trees. He reclaimed his sanity here, getting away from the other basers, restoring his headspace and his equanimity. Of course, the locals knew the paths, he knew that. It was their home, their place, their island. But it felt like his when he ran, the game was his claim over it. Him vs the island and he always won. When he came across someone working or walking on his path he felt like they were the interloper, not him. What were they doing here? In his game? What right did they have to intrude? The game was his and his alone and he didn’t want their presence reminding him it was theirs, breaking the game and his flow.
He knew they watched him, that they saw him even when he didn’t see them. Feredi, the Base ascari had teased him before, “Aaai, Sammy, you’ve been running again today huh? Many people they ask me “Why he runs, where is that crazy mzungu going in such a hurry in this heat? He only runs in circles, anyway, he goes nowhere! What is he doing?”, they laugh. They think you are crazy!” Feredi taps his head as he smiles widely, showing his gapped teeth. Sam enjoys these little exchanges, a bit of banter with a friendly smiling face. Feredi always has a smile and a easy laugh which seems to burst through the gaps in his teeth from deep down underground and is always there ready to erupt.
Sam smiles to himself as he skips and runs over the ragged stones. ‘Push the button’, a nice little bit of Chemical Brothers keeps pushing him on, beating out the drums in his ears. The more the music bangs in his head against the sunshine and the space around him as he runs, the freer he feels. He cuts down his favourite trail which has a short stretch of sandy path which offers a brief respite from the rag and he eases off the pace to catch his breath, sucking in lungfuls of the hot dusty air that seethes around him. He cuts left down a trail that runs to the shore. Crowded by mangrove trees where the crabs flee in sideways terror from his pumping feet. The ghost crabs are the funniest, barely a whisper of white on the sand but in such dense numbers it looks like the beach itself is moving and shifting at his approach. Like it might just open up and swallow him at any moment, plunging him into another level of the game. Sam quickens his pace, imagining the beach behind him falling away into nothing. A huge void opening into nowhere, no darkness, no light, no time. The shoreline offers another challenge again, the thick seaweed heaped high and covering the rocky outcrops, hidden holes and sharp spikes of the stone which lays covered with weeds complicating his feet into a tango of short steps.
As he passes a fallen tree laying rotting on it’s side he spots a path heading back inland. Sam’s run the beach any number of times but must’ve missed this little turn off before. He stops for a second, heart pounding, eardrums thumping. It’s getting hotter and lunch should be ready pretty soon. He should get back, not that he’d be missed, people have their noses deep in their bowls at mealtimes, but if he doesn’t get back in time they’ll be nothing left for him. The troughs’ll be empty and he’ll be left with nothing but a banana if he’s lucky to keep him going until dinnertime. Ahhh, fuck it! He’s enjoying the game too much today. Sam kicks off down the path, excited about some new terrain he hasn’t covered before. A new pocket of the island revealing a new adventure. He knows it’ll only lead out onto the same routes he’s run before, but there’s always that little buzz of excitement when he hits a new path. A new level to the game, like finding a secret room in a section you’ve played many times before.
Sam heads further down the path, scanning his mental map, wondering where he’ll pop out. This must come out on that downward slope to the Rich Man’s House, it feels in about that direction. As he cuts through a small clearing dotted with tall palms that sway gently in the breeze, a nice bit of Mr Scruff tickles his ears, some blissful beats to ease his steps. The song drifts him along, he sinks into his head, barely aware of the path below his feet, firm packed sand, easy going. Thoughtless tracking as he crosses the clearing, the path leads him back into the bushes once more.
The sandy track below his feet matched only by the blue ribbon of sky above him, punctuated by the throbbing sun pouring heat onto his head. Mr Scruff gives way to the soft tones and liquid melodies of Quantick as he runs on down the channel path. Walled by green, the bushes brush him on his way, no catching, no scratching, the plants play ball and the sand beneath his shoes makes his soft stepping loping run a pleasure. Quantick oozes to an end and with a click a blast of Blur, ‘Song No. 2’ springs him to his senses. He realizes he’s been running this path for what must be a quarter of an hour and he’s crossed nothing else. No other paths or tracks, in fact, it’s been nothing but the green walls on his sides and the slowly winding path beneath him. He slows to a halt and checks his watch. Shit! It’s 1.30 and he really should be back by now. Puzzled that he could’ve run so far without coming across another trail, or even the edge of the island for that matter, after all it’s only 1.5 kms across at this end, does he carry on and hope he comes across something familiar or head back the way he came? Sam pulls his earphones out and is immediately aware of the still silence around him. There’s not a hint of breeze to stir the bushes, he can’t even hear the distant thump of the waves hitting the coral shelf around the island, which is a constant backing track to life here.
The walls of green press in on each side and the roof of heat above creates claustrophobia inside. He feels a nameless fear welling up inside him. His stomach churns and the gripping feeling of evil increases making his head buzz and swim. Before he knows it, he’s bolting back the way he came. His feet pounding a panicked tattoo faster and faster as his pace increases, the bushes now seem to close even tighter around him and the sandy path sprouts roots from underground, making him trip and stumble in his haste to escape. He bursts out into the clearing once more and barrels across it as fast as his tiring legs will allow. His breathing stutters and rasps, the hot air searing his lungs and stinging his eyes. As he flashes back into the enclosing pathway his fear mounts once more, forcing his aching legs and burning lungs to struggle faster, to find some scrap of speed to get him out of here. To get him out NOW!
Sam rockets back out onto the beach and stumbles across the sand. He stops and gags for breath, trying to suck in enough air to ease his swimming head. What was it? What was there that caused such panic inside him, the mortal deep dread he felt. As his panting subsides and his heart slows he feels the fear leaking away, shadows of it dissolve like mist or a dream half remembered. He laughs at himself, what a fool for getting spooked like that. He can’t believe he got scared of some bloody bushes. Scared of being alone when, let’s face it, he’s more than used to that. He heads back towards Base for his overdue lunch. ‘Next time’, he thinks to himself’, ‘next time I’ll beat that bloody path. This island ain’t the winner in my game’.
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