The Island's Swansong

XXXI - Epilogue

Many Years Later....

White. It catches all light, direct or otherwise. The late morning sun lit up the interior of the nursing home, banishing any shadow I was casting on the floor inside. I sat in my wheelchair, watching the birds on the feeder outside. A large panoramic window stood in place of a back wall in our recreation area. Twitters and chirps fluttered to my ears. Flapping wings flashed colours and patterns too quickly for my eyes to keep up.

It had been some time, though I was unsure of how much, or since when. I went to an Island at some point, curious of what it had become. I think I wrote it down, and made a book about it, so everyone could share in the wonder that still existed there. Some days I think it happened, other days I can't recall it. The truth eluded me.

I met someone else on that Island, who I thought (or hoped) went onto do amazing things. I told myself she kept in touch, watching my book succeed, and reopened a railway line on that Island, a line belonging to a blue engine. Powered by fuel of her own making, it became a historic resort, where steam lived. A tiny rebirth of a forgotten world. Last I heard it was doing well, though whether it happened inside or outside of my head remained unclear.

The birds danced around the feeder. My eyes strained to follow them. I could no longer identify them by name. There was one red, one green, one brown, one blue...

"I have something for you," a nurse spoke softly into my left ear, "Someone donated some old discs for the group to watch on the TV, and a surprise was nestled inside. I've put it on for you."

I sat, nonreactive.

The TV flickered on in the background, the faint reflection of the screen casting itself over the bird feeder in front of me. The faint, wavy image of a miniature windmill hit my retinas.

Piano keys marched off on a nostalgic climb up the keyboard. The tune and melody carried my mind away to where I was always meant to be. Eyes shut, I let go, no longer needing the picture or sound. I lost all my senses. The sights, sounds and touch of the real world ceased. My consciousness was back there, on the Island, atop a hill, staring over fields of green. Beyond was beautiful blue sea, and shorelines with sandy yellow beaches. There were rivers, streams and lots of trees where the birds sung. Windmills turned, sails poking above the trees. Docks and harbours dotted the coastline, welcoming visitors.

And there were lots and lots of railway lines.

A big, green engine hurried on by, pulling a heavy freight train. A big, blue engine sped along in the opposite direction, a rake of clattering coaches forming a long, stripey tail. The smell of burning coal whisked upward through the air.

A whistle peeped, and I saw him. The small, blue, number one tank engine, with his two faithful coaches, puffing on home.

I was back where I always wanted to be.

The Island. The magical land where dreams come true.

Forever and Always.

THE END