Just an average English pleb hoping to get better.
Can someone please look at my creative response from island which represents the inner monologue from the fathers perspective and give me feedback? Thank you in advance!
Solitude
Today is the day I finally set my son free from the jail that is this boat.
It is the shackles around my wrists. The chain around my neck. The ultimate solitary confinement.
I am unable to allow my son to go down this treacherous path as it has taken me, my father, his father and on it goes. Since dot, this has been our so called ‘tradition’, which became an unbearable force which withheld our true desires.
Since the day my first daughter was born, my wife has set out to raise housewives and fishermen. To carry on our so called ‘tradition’, which I reject as I, myself had my own dreams once upon a time, I dreamed to be an educator. But I became trapped, in this spiralling demise where the only way out is death. As I lay in my bed I conjure images of my son going down this path, tears gather within my crusty eyes, the more I lay the further they stream down my face. It tasted exactly like the thing I dreaded the most. The sea.
My wife enters the room and her eyes, those giant judgemental eyes zoom to the dried tears dripping off my chin. I must make another excuse. As I refuse to let my wife strangle my children with her beliefs, she will not strip them of choices and freedom as she believes is correct. Her old heritage will eventually blind my children but I cannot let that happen, they will not hate living their lives! They will not dread waking up, having to complete the same everyday routine. Their lives will be full of joy and love.
Another tear disembarks on its journey down my already salt covered face as I stand on the edge of the jail, of which I am confined to.
For a man of 56 I am built like a 90-year-old. My hair, as white as snow, the wrinkles ingrained within my skin. The stench of salt stained my life. It is a constant reminder of the horrific fate my son faces if I do not take it upon myself to change things. That’s why I must finish this. My final act. The only act of freedom I can bestow upon my son.
My daughters have already left me. Choosing to continue with their own lives, not restricted to the tradition of which my wife would like.
I lay in bed and ponder only for a moment what my wife is feeling. I wait for my son to slowly walk down our stained stairs, I wait for hours and what feels like years as I have not slept. As I hear the first creak of the old whiney step time stops. Memories of my children running up and down the stairs with joy hit me like a train, the laughter fills the whole house, until it is interrupted with the loud screech of the next step. I quickly sniffle and wipe my face dry.
I raise out of my bed just like any other day, but this time it’s different. I was slower, somewhat more hesitant. My son sprung in the room. I fall back into my bed. I stand up again, however my body stayed down. Everything froze, I stumbled towards my son, I began to see his droopy cheeks that lay under dark purple sacs below his eyes. I then realise that he was already being swallowed by the sea. I wept, however there were no tears. I walked back towards my body and stared. I never realised how worn I was. My beard was scruffy and grey, my eyes had turned into black holes, my skin was pale and lifeless. I wondered how I had not already died. But then the visions of my children began engulfing me, it was so clear why I was still alive.
My son called, “father?”, I hear the tremble within his voice, I reply with a short “yes son?”. He responds with a concerned “are you okay?”. I do not answer his question with fear of breaking out with a waterfall of tears, I just say “ready?”. My son nods. We hobble out of our house, and towards our confinement. That final walk was the fastest it has ever been. However, I somehow had time to reflect on every memory I have had. The roar of the engine blasted throughout the damaged waters as they smash against our boat. We set on our final venture. I watch my boy intensely. I watch him develop into a man. He takes full power of the situation as he begins working. Reeling in lobster traps in this torrential rain is scary for any person. However, he acts as if he is not phased. Although, I see the true fright in his eyes. He continues.
Time passes, I just stand at the stern of this death-trap. I take my final moments to recollect the highlights of my life. The waves became stronger, they bashed the boat creating bruises. It was finally time. For a very short time I stare at my son and tears cascade down my wrinkled cheeks. He was unable to differentiate between the sea water and the tears, however I could. The tears tasted sweet. They gave me comfort. With each tear, another memory left my body.
I take my final step. The water was as cold as ice, however, it provided me warmth. The few seconds I am alive, whilst being swept into the giant abyss, lasted for what seemed like hours, days, even years. During this time, I think about my family and how much I adore them. I scream at the top of my lungs although I knew no one would answer.
As I took my final breath I hear the shackles snap. The chains break. My son. My son was finally free.
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