SUNRISE/SUNSET
Prompt - Sunrise/Sunset : The sun comes up, the sun goes down. It goes round and round. Write something inspiring about the sunrise or sunset.
It only took a dodgy mussel and a golden sky to change his life.
Day four of their holiday and the pattern was already well established. They'd all be down some time between midday and one, first beer of the day by the pool, then out to get something to eat before hitting the beach, back to the hotel to change, out for the night, back around three. Or four. Or five. Back before sunrise anyway. A lads holiday to perfection.
But not on this day. They'd been seeking out the cheapest possible places to eat. Not usually a problem on this island, where prices were much the same in most tavernas within walking distance of the hotel, but last night they'd spotted one that was extra-cheap. It looked a bit dirtier than the rest, and the few locals that sat there weren't the friendliest, but what the hell, if it meant more money for beer it was worth taking the chance.
He decided on the mussels again. Yesterday's had been the best he'd ever tasted, like they'd just jumped straight from the water and on to his plate, and he was hooked. But they didn't taste quite like yesterdays, didn't have that same freshness. Even through the last traces of hangover and the first influences of the beer he was discriminating enough to spot the difference. And still didn't have the sense to push the plate away. They were still delicious.
They were also dangerous. As he realised after a couple of hours laid out in the sun, with nausea coming upon him. His first thought was a bit of sunstroke, always a big risk for a white skinned, ginger headed Scot. Giffnock never had sunshine like this. The others were predictably unsympathetic. Lads didn't do understanding.
"Beer deficiency, get this one down you."
"If it's OK for lobsters it's OK for you."
"Get in the sea."
But he was so hot. So dizzy. His stomach churned, his senses dulled, his power of speech evaporated. And then it came out, both ends, as he simultaneously shat in his shorts and vomited over the towel and sand. And fell to his knees, red and pale at the same time, groaning. Even the lads had to take that seriously.
-------------------------------------------------
They carried him back to the hotel, reception got a doctor, and food poisoning diagnosed. A pill to settle him, lots of water, lots of rest. Not that he had much say in it. His body had given up holidaying. Told he'd probably sleep for the next eight hours at least the lads decided there was no point in letting this minor setback spoil their holiday, so they were soon off out for the night. Caring bunch.
He woke about five thirty. The room was cool, the silence was strangely reassuring. He felt weak, but glad he had got over the worst. Drank some water. His stomach briefly rebelled, but settled down. Te drank some more.
Light was appearing through the blue curtains, a light he hadn't seen before. Opening them up he gasped. He'd thought the view pleasant enough, but nothing special. But this was special.
The jumble of buildings below, a mix of shops and tavernas and half finished flats, was matt black, featureless, an up and down baseline to the picture, the spikes of ariels and a couple of telegraph poles like points on a graph. Beyond that the pale silvered sea, greys and whites and that one golden line down the centre, silhouetting the fragile outline of a small sailing boat. Another line of black, the voluptuous islands across the sound, rolling, revealing, suggesting. And above that... Oh above that was a sight he thought only existed in the imagination of artists.
He'd seen some spectacular sunsets back home, pinks and purples and flashes of yellow. Sunrises were a less frequent sight in his lifestyle, but some summer days the blue would be washed with yellows and stabs of white. But nothing like this, not remotely like this. Golden. Buttercup. Lemon. Satsuma. Dundee United. An underlay of scarlet intensity. All this from a rising sun, inching above a valley in those hills. Not the blinding sunlight of the daytime, nor the softer shadowy light of evening, but a glory previously unknown to him.
Maybe two minutes of this. And then the sun was that fraction higher, that bit stronger, that speared into his eyes and wiped out the scene. He retired to his bed, dazzled by the light and the vision. He'd glimpsed something special, something he wouldn't have seen without that dodgy seafood. He'd had a sign. Had he?
He took it easy for the rest of the day, stayed in the shade, off the booze, drank water, ate fruit and eggs and a little pasta in the evening. He let the lads off the hook and told them to get on with enjoying themselves and he'd back with them when he felt able to. But he didn't want to be back with them. He wanted to get to bed early and see the sunrise again. It didn't disappoint, and this time he had the photos to prove it.
He pleaded frailty again next day, riding the jibes, with only one aim in mind. Even risked mussels at the first place he'd had them, and lived. He talked more to the locals, found out about the history of the island, the places that could be explored. Talked more to the people in the tourist industry who'd come here to make this place their home, away from the rain and cold and greyness of 'back there'.
The lockdowns of the past two years had made him realise that he could do his job from anywhere, and the months spent alone in his flat made him realise that something was missing from his life. He walked past that dirty little taverna and found himself grateful. Without their lack of hygiene he'd never have seen that sunrise, never have had the time to be sober and inquiring about the place where that sky could be seen. A question formed in his mind, became a decision, and he went to look for estate agents. He was going to be able to see that golden sky for many years to come.
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