Story (Untitled)

At first he thought it was the sound of his heart beating that he could hear. Rousing a little, he realised that no, the sound was somewhat wetter than a heartbeat should be. So not his heart – a tide then, pulsing, pulsing against the shore.
Gently, he waved a hand. A minimalist action, the barest exertion of energy expended. His fingers told him grainy; rough; sandy. Sand. So he was on a beach. Slowly, cautiously, Ramok opened an eye. A blazingly blue sky greeted him, the sun shining high overhead. The tide was still booming gently somewhere nearby.
With a quiet groan Ramok attempted movement, each action slow, conserved, necessary: rolling from his back on to his side, folding his legs up, moving his arm across his body onto the sand, he hefted his body upright. Finally he was standing, facing the vast expanse of the sea. Bare feet splayed in the sand, he mentally checked on his condition. Apart from a feeling of incredible tiredness, he seemed to be unharmed. No injuries, no aches, nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing, except-
As Ramok’s consciousness fully awakened, he realised what had been troubling him: he had no memory of this place. He had no recollection of how he had come to be here. No inkling as to why he had been lying unconscious on the sand, or why he had expected injury upon waking.
Ramok turned his gaze upon himself. His muscled torso glistened in the sun. His legs had a hint of redness to them, indicating that he must have lain there on the sand for a while, but not too long, else his chest would be red too. He turned his attention to his arms, bringing each one up, level with his face, for meticulous examination. Each was completely bare, naked. Nothing there but his own skin. Next, his hands scoured his thick, brown hair and roamed across his face. A face that women smiled at. A face that smiled at women – yet it was not smiling now. As with his torso, legs, arms, it was bare. No adornments. Nothing on him that he had not been born with. Except for a black silken loincloth.
Thoughtfully, Ramok dropped his arms to his sides again and stood staring out at the gently rolling sea. Nothing else was in view north, east or south. No coastline. No island. Not even a vessel.
No memory. Endless sea. And a black loincloth.
“Ah crap,” he said.

 

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4 Comments

  1. This is wonderful. I enjoyed reading it 🙂

    Reply
  2. 🙂 Yes I did. I’ve always favoured description and a bit of mystery to begin with… do you think it works?

    Reply
    • Well, holding back a name for a while is characteristic of mystery tales. While this has that face, so I may also argue that it works. Good job.

      Reply
  3. Haha. Love that bit of humor in the end. I really enjoyed the whole story, though I wonder if you intentionally decided not to bring in this character’s name (Ramok) from the very beginning.

    Reply

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