20 August 2012

The Origin of Exploration

I can remember it as if it were just days ago. When I last heard from him, there was such passion in his voice. He had been searching for so long, for such a long time, it made me shed a tear at the loss of his work. For 8, long years he had been searching. Following in the footsteps of his ancestors, the adventurers, the investigators, the detectives of our world. He knew he could be as great as them, and in the eye of his crew, he was.

It was 1738, a few years after the discovery of that horrid island. "Paasch-Eyland" they called it, but later known to us of England, Easter Island. Nobody took that much interest into it, where we came from. It was only a recent discovery, and living off the coast of Wales, we had barely any connection to the adventurers heading in its direction. But as cut off as we were, somehow, he found me. I remember the day I heard him knock. It was a late afternoon, and I laid there in my quarters. I have every detail of it, I was reading. Reading "Mole Flanders" by Daniel Defoe. It was a chilling novel, I could not lay eyes on it without burrowing my head on the pages for three or four hours straight. The compelling literature was always such an enjoyment to me. Being able to enjoy such a fine piece of work after such a long day of work. I worked out on the fields, sweeping away at the dust for the farmers. It was tiring work, and I got no respect for it. Back in London, I had been a brilliant writer, writing tales of horror, and romance. I was known wherever I set foot. Don't get me wrong, I had no obsession with my fame, but it was quite a different environment without the benefits I grew up with.

The sun was beginning to set, and I was finishing my final chapter. Footsteps sounded outside my door, and I put my book down to hear. I could hear the leather of his clothes rub up against the wood of my door. "Mr. Robbertson?". He cried. "Are you home?". I listened as he knocked on the door. 3 times, knock, knock, knock. I set my book down on my bedside table, struggling to stand up from my horribly uncomfortable chair. I mumbled to the man, "I'm coming.". Three more knocks sounded, "Are you home?". He yelled. I approached the door, slowly, and pulled open the wood. "Yes,". I began. "How may I help you?".

It was then I knew he was a traveler. The way he dressed told it most of all. His large, feathered hat, and rugged leather coat. He stood only feet from the horse he had traveled on. "I'm sorry to be a bother, my horse is a bit unstable. Could I tie him somewhere?". I smiled at him. "Not the best weather for such a triumphant creature, now is it?". He chuckled, bowing at my presence. "Pardon my manners, sir. Richard, Richard Jackgleeson. Explorer and adventurist!". He held the cape of his coat out, and awaited my response. I slowly walked over towards his horse.

After putting away the horse, and securing the area, I invited him into my home. He came around, sitting down at my front table. I followed him, staring intently into his eyes, studying him. "How may I be of service to you?". I asked. I could see the courage and excitement in his eyes, and could tell he brought news of great importance. Or Maybe that was just how he came off. He folded his hands, and squirmed to comfort in his chair. "Well,". He began. "you see, I am very familiar with your work in England!". "I knew you were from there, nothing more noticeable then a strong accent.". I stated. "Yes, sir. I wanted to talk to you about my latest expidition. I would be honored, if you shared your expertise with me. If I'm correct, you come from a family of travelers!". I gave him a very stern, and confused look. "How do you know so much about me?". I asked. He just grinned, pretending like I already knew. "You wrote of such a glorious land, a mysterious place full of wonders, and ancient tribal writings! You see, sir, I have found this land!."

I couldn't do anything more than give him my attention. He told me everything he knew about this island. He told me all about the wonders and jewels, and the vegetation of Paasch-Eyland. But what struck me most curious, was the stone he spoke of. I asked and interrogated him about this, showing nothing but skepticism. I wish I had been more believing, but I had no idea what magic I would see. "They are statues, taller than you and I!". He claimed. "They weigh so much, and I have sent man after man to explore them. None have come back with anything.". He kept talking about these Moai, as he called them. Ancient statues of the island, hand-carved from Rock. "With your expertise, I believe we can unfold this mystery.". It was those words that compelled me to follow him. It seemed obvious that he looked up to me, and I was not about to turn someone with such passion, and progress down. He had such knowledge, and claims that to me seemed like no lie. So I set out with him, and together, we discovered a new world.

Ch. 2:

It was only two weeks into the journey when Richard grew very sick. I heard a terrible cough come up from his lungs, each and every day at sea. It was very fortunate that he came prepared, I worry about what could of happened if he didn't time to time. Perhaps, he would of died sooner. Even in this state of health, Richard seemed so eager to set foot on this island he spoke of. I didn't believe a word of it, before. I thought from all of the tales previously declared hoaxes it was far too far fetched to be an actual, existing island. But this man gave me the urge to search for it, to make me want to believe it was real. He gave me something to believe. He gave me hope, and I greatly appreciated that gift.

It became clear to me at the start of the journey how old I had grown since my earlier days of exploration. My family used to believe that once you grew over a certain age, the sickness would wash right out of you, like you've been sick the maximum amount. It was silly, but i hadn't gotten sick since January of last year, and I remembered it, for I was sworn to bed with an unexplainable sickness. Some suggested it be Nemonia, but I had many doubts. Whatever I had didn't matter, it was the suffering that built my exterior, and made me stronger.

Seeing Richard suffer wasn't easy. Being so close to a man with such a horrid looking disease, without knowing the possibility of contagion, is very uneasy. Overboard floated piles of the sickness he carried, it was a horrible sight to see. I hoped the tales of the island were true at that point. If he didn't see land soon, I wouldn't have an idea what would have happened.

The water was loud as it was hit by the paddles. It was a very small boat, and a very quiet ocean. It was so easy to hear the sounds around us. I could recognize many of them, like the paddling ducks, the swimming turtles, and the pinching of claws below the surface. It was lovely, I could ask for no better a vacation. I could not explain to you how much I missed these sights in Wales. I barely got any time at sea, just field work. Back in England I could walk to the shore on my vacations. It was a beautiful country, and truly my home. Before I spoke my final words I would return to England, but that's a goal I have yet to complete.

As the days went by, the clouds colored gray flew closer towards us. Drip, drop, drip, drop. They hit on the boat in such a rhythmic speed. It amused me in my hours of sheer boredom. I would follow the beats with my paddle as I rowed down the water. They would hit the waves, as the rain hit the wood, and create beauteous patterns. Drip, plop, drip, bang! It was an enjoyable orchestral arrangement of sounds. Even in old age it was fun to pretend. Imagination, to me, was the only thing that made me feel young from time to time.

Ch.3:

"Were here.". He said, waving the paddle over the edge of the boat. I smiled at his remark, refusing to look up at the island. I began to pull my paddle onto the planks, after hearing his drop. He seemed to struggle after all the work, but I couldn't say I blamed him. He had been pushing and pulling pounds, and pounds of wood for days now, and so have I. With barely anything to eat, I was extremely famished.

My eyes widened as I looked up to the beach. "My god,". I began. You've spoke of a haven...and not a word was exaggerated.". He laughed at my reaction, clapping his hands to get the dirt off. I slowly did the same, but was almost entirely distracted by the gorgeous scenery the island had to offer. I turned to Richard. He put his hands out, with a very assuringly interested look. I was fascinated, "My only question,". I said, watching him step closer a few steps to hear. "Where are the Moai?".

His feet trenched through the wet greenery below. I could hear the dying vegetation crumble and break with every step. It was kind of irritating, the way everything cracked beneath us. Though, As we walked up the hills, the crumbling life faded out, and we were left with a plain of grass. There they stood, in that plain laid the thing I was most fascinated in when these tales were told to me, the Moai. They stood there;their heads pointing up to the sky. I observed the simplistic smoothing style of the outer edges, and the intricately carved faces. Their noses pointed outward, like a branch from a tree, and their eyes were pressed in like the bulges of grass in every field of the island.

This island reminded me of a land. A great land, that was previously discovered by the ancestors of my family. Deep into the outskirts of Sadi-Arabia lived a beautiful world, with trees as high as towers, and animals as ellegant as ever. Socotra was its name. The branches of it's trees we're soft, with a pale, smoothness surfaces. They reached up to the blue of the sky, below the great vines and grassy leaves its head grew. The sand shined red in the sun, and glared away

JosespinnerThe Origin Of Exploration • Opuss № I