An insignificant cup sat on a pretty standard table. The glass reflects very little in the dim light. The reflection gives no hint of where it was or why it's there. Even the slighty dried substance at the bottom of the glass, orange in colour, is meaningless. In fact is was nothing extraordinary about the glass at all. The only thing that really defines it is that it is in Marcus' field of view. He stares at the glass for a good minute before shaking himself out of the trance. It was not anything specific about the glass that had kept him transfixed but for its existence. For one thing Marcus doesn't own any glasses of that particular shape or size. This in itself was cause for much concern as it was, most definitely, sitting on his desk which as far as he was concerned was still within his apartment. Even so there was a much more worrying aspect about this glass. The slightly smudged faint red lipstick on the rim hinted very directly to something that he was unwilling to accept at this particular moment.
A quiet sound from the back of the apartment, a shuffle, the repositioning of bed sheets, confirmed his suspicions. Marcus' mind was just now beginning to pick up speed. He tried to think back to the last solid memory but could not recall one many since his wife had left over a month ago. He recalled standing in the doorway watching her, suitcase in hand, walking towards the car. He hadn't turned to the bottle immediately but had instead gone about making sure her usual routine was kept in tact. Her rituals became his by the simple reasoning that it kept him grounded in reality. When he woke up he made the bed, he cleaned the bathroom after showering even picking hair out of the drain. He'd made breakfast the way she did always making enough for two people. The cat was fed and let out on time. To all outward appearances everything continued to run as normal. It had hardly lasted a week.
By the 11th day breakfast was beans, on toast if he had remembered or bothered to get bread, and, on the 11th night, he opened the first bottle of wine. Her rituals began to fade from his routine as they were overcome by his bleakness. One day it was one bottle of wine at night and by the end of the second week he had been opening bottles as early as midday. He'd found one incentive to be positive. A mere two weeks had passed and he had fallen this far and he considered this to be as far as one could fall. Working on the assumption that life flowed in waves where one week you were high and the other could be low he had assumed that now he had reached the low he would begin to rise again.
This was where the memories started to get really blurry. He could remember sitting in the sofa in his usual spot. You could tell it was his, a slight depression had formed in the seat. If anyone else had sat there they would have felt uncomfortable like they didn't quite belong. As if they were sitting in someone else’s coffin. For Marcus the depression felt comfortable like a well worn sock. It fitted him and only him. He remembers sitting in the sofa at this particular time as it was when he came to a decision. It was time to reverse the low and start a climb to glory. This, he knew, could only be achieved by leaving the comfort of his sofa and going out. So loaded up in his best suit and probably the best part of a bottle of wine too many he headed out to town.
At the age of twenty we have certain restrictions on our habits. We can barely afford the bus so a night out is a considered act. We go with the people we like, to a place we enjoy and have a good time. The result being that 3 nights a week is the maximum and 2 days in bed a required minimum. At 34 Marcus had different limits. Money was not an object and time was something he had a serious amount of and so the spiral continued.
In bed... or at least asleep by 7 or 8am allowing him to wake up at 5 and ready to start all over again. Flashes of memories leaked into his head now. A base line that had adjusted the rhythem of his heart. Flashing lights giving glimpses of people moving to the music. Each memory blurred from one to the next all basically the same. Someone talking but saying nothing, flashing lights animating them. A bar man yelling soundlessly, flashing lights, the baseline vibrating his whole body.
He had been with people but who they were or why he had been with them he would never know. Faces flash through but still nothing definite.
He looks to the door behind him. It's still dark in the room but he can make out some noises and cringes slightly as a pulse of pain passes through his head. He closes his eyes and reaches for the asprin. Cringing again as he dry swallows them. “No wonder I carried on drinking” the thought tickles him and he cringes again.
Trying to unwind the memories of the last drunken month he forces his brain on. Sitting on a kerb, head between his knees watching water trickle into a drain. Was that last night? Last week? It's coming together slowly but the pace is increasing and finally he sees her. Yes, he is certain. It's her hair that triggers the memory. Long and wavy reaching well below her shoulders, how could he have forgotten? It was just like his wife's. Even down to the dark highlights running through the blonde curls. Guilt surges through him.
He remembers dancing with her. There was an air of familiarity, it was comfortable and easy dancing. He can feel her hips in his hands a light touch swaying in time with the music and in time with him. Thinking again of his wife he looks to the calendar and sees the date she left marked so thoughtfully with a cross. He ticks his eyes over the days and weeks, counting. “six” he thinks aloud as his eye passes over today’s date. “6 weeks” he slumps as his eyes move further along the calendar. Another cross appears in just 10 days time.
“I can fix this” the thought lightens him slightly as he looks around the apartment. It's a mess but not a disaster. Nothing is broken. He looks back at the glass, glares at it. It will have to go. He is making mental notes now, what belongs where and what needs to be cleaned. A thought passes through his mind about the cat but is pushed out by the thought that cats go missing all the time. A slight cough from the bedroom finally pulls him back to more immediate concerns.
He puts a picture of his wife in his mind. It gives him resolve. He will fix this for her, she will never know of the betrayal because he loves her too much. He wont let her know that pain. He stands up and moves towards the bedroom. He can smell the musty darkness as he approaches and vaguely hopes the smell doesn't linger too long daily reminding him of his guilt. As he enters the room the shape on the bed stirs and he can just make out her hair flowing over the pillow. She mumbles something, it sounds like his name but it is half buried in sleep. He pauses and waits just long enough for her to lift herself up a bit and ask again “Marcus?” clearer now and definitely his name. Somehow it makes it worse.
He breathes deep and closes his eyes. A moment later he finds the strength and reaches for the light switch.
Tuesday, 14 December 2010
Wednesday, 2 December 2009
Aileen and the Ape
It had been one of those weeks. Not just ordinarily bad but one of those special ones where you realise it is not paranoia but the world really is out to get you. It wasn't enough that she had 3 essays due the following week or that her best friend had just been dumped by her boyfriend. The debt collectors had been around as well, a £20 overspend magically turned into £120 thanks to their fees. The call from her mum had been the final straw. After about 20 minutes of nagging Aileen hung up the phone without saying goodbye and marched out the door.
Now she was standing staring into the eyes of a great ape, the plaque in front of its cage described it as “Percy: An adult male Western Lowlands Gorilla.” Aileen looked into its eyes and decided that “Bloody great big Ape” would be more appropriate, he was at least her hight and probably weighed 4 times as much. “What a stupid name Percy was for such an animal” she muttered.
The gorilla cocked it's head and looked at her “What's wrong with Percy?”
Now it had been a bad week but this was ridiculous. She decided there and then to book an appointment at the spa and also not to go on random walks.
As she turned to walk away the ape stood up and reached out to the bars. She stared back into his big brown eyes and this time saw so much more. He looked so unhappy. Feeling incredibly foolish she walked up to the bars and asked “are you ok?” He shook his head “Not really, no.”
Aileen squealed, partly in delight and partly in abject fear, then quickly shut up. Now people really were staring at her and if she carried on talking to a gorilla they would probably lock her away. It was getting dark and the park attendants were ushering people out of the zoo. She quickly stroked Percy's hand and headed towards the gate. She felt his eyes on her all the way out. She decided not to tell anyone about Percy, she would come back again soon and find out what was making him so unhappy.
It was a couple of months before she could make it back, she hoped Percy wouldn't be too mad at her but she had a life to lead and no matter how amazing a talking gorilla was her degree had to come first. It was a Monday afternoon and the zoo was almost empty. Aileen was wrapped up in several warm layers against the November chill and had an umbrella with her just in case. Percy was curled up in a corner of his cage chewing on a bamboo shoot “Percy”, she whispered. Carefully looking around she called out a bit louder “Percy”. He looked up and after a few moments a small smile appeared on his face.
“you never did tell me what was wrong with the name Percy” he said. Aileen blushed uncontrollably “Well it's just... I... errr” Percy smiled at her and she blushed some more “It's a lovely name.” They carried on talking for over an hour and Aileen had soon forgotten she was talking to a Gorilla. Percy told her about his life in the jungles of Africa before he was brought to the Zoo. He had a brother and a mother but as a young Gorilla his mother had been killed by hunters and he had been orphaned. Too young to look after himself he had become ill and was very grateful to the people who had come and saved him. They fed him and nurtured him back to health. They had even become his friends. Percy had no real concept of time but he had been brought to the zoo a long time ago and had spent his entire adult life here alone.
Aileen wiped a tear from her cheek. “I want to help you but I'm just a university student, I wouldn't even know where to start” Percy grinned “I haven't just been sitting here all this time, I can get out but I need help staying out. Will you help me Aileen?”
Sitting in a hired van with a Starbucks cappuccino and the heating turned up to maximum Aileen wondered if she was going insane when the doors suddenly banged open, she turned around expecting to see a film crew instead there was a bloody great big Ape screaming at her to drive.
Simultaneously spilling her coffee and slamming the van into gear she abstractly wondered where Percy had taken his amateur dramatics classes or, in fact, his advanced English lessons.
She spun the wheel to the left and felt a huge weight bang against the side of the van “Where too?” she shouted. “What?” he yelled back. “I need to know where we are going?” She looked at him as he climbed over the seats. “I figured you would have thought of that, my local knowledge is pretty limited” he said, sitting himself down next to her. She sighed and accepted the inevitable. Forcing her flatmate to live with a gorilla would hardly be the worst of her sins today. She was sure that aiding an escaped gorilla was illegal in some way and she was definitely in breach of her van hire contract.
Lucy was surprisingly accepting of Aileen's Canadian cousin. Lucy was not a particularly well travelled person had even suggested they all go on a shopping trip because “That black woollen jumper makes him look like a school boy” so Aileen was happy to leave the two of them talking about Canada and only smiled slightly as she heard Percy describing the Tropical Rainforest's in Canada. She would have to buy him a lonely planet as a house warming gift.
Now she was standing staring into the eyes of a great ape, the plaque in front of its cage described it as “Percy: An adult male Western Lowlands Gorilla.” Aileen looked into its eyes and decided that “Bloody great big Ape” would be more appropriate, he was at least her hight and probably weighed 4 times as much. “What a stupid name Percy was for such an animal” she muttered.
The gorilla cocked it's head and looked at her “What's wrong with Percy?”
Now it had been a bad week but this was ridiculous. She decided there and then to book an appointment at the spa and also not to go on random walks.
As she turned to walk away the ape stood up and reached out to the bars. She stared back into his big brown eyes and this time saw so much more. He looked so unhappy. Feeling incredibly foolish she walked up to the bars and asked “are you ok?” He shook his head “Not really, no.”
Aileen squealed, partly in delight and partly in abject fear, then quickly shut up. Now people really were staring at her and if she carried on talking to a gorilla they would probably lock her away. It was getting dark and the park attendants were ushering people out of the zoo. She quickly stroked Percy's hand and headed towards the gate. She felt his eyes on her all the way out. She decided not to tell anyone about Percy, she would come back again soon and find out what was making him so unhappy.
It was a couple of months before she could make it back, she hoped Percy wouldn't be too mad at her but she had a life to lead and no matter how amazing a talking gorilla was her degree had to come first. It was a Monday afternoon and the zoo was almost empty. Aileen was wrapped up in several warm layers against the November chill and had an umbrella with her just in case. Percy was curled up in a corner of his cage chewing on a bamboo shoot “Percy”, she whispered. Carefully looking around she called out a bit louder “Percy”. He looked up and after a few moments a small smile appeared on his face.
“you never did tell me what was wrong with the name Percy” he said. Aileen blushed uncontrollably “Well it's just... I... errr” Percy smiled at her and she blushed some more “It's a lovely name.” They carried on talking for over an hour and Aileen had soon forgotten she was talking to a Gorilla. Percy told her about his life in the jungles of Africa before he was brought to the Zoo. He had a brother and a mother but as a young Gorilla his mother had been killed by hunters and he had been orphaned. Too young to look after himself he had become ill and was very grateful to the people who had come and saved him. They fed him and nurtured him back to health. They had even become his friends. Percy had no real concept of time but he had been brought to the zoo a long time ago and had spent his entire adult life here alone.
Aileen wiped a tear from her cheek. “I want to help you but I'm just a university student, I wouldn't even know where to start” Percy grinned “I haven't just been sitting here all this time, I can get out but I need help staying out. Will you help me Aileen?”
Sitting in a hired van with a Starbucks cappuccino and the heating turned up to maximum Aileen wondered if she was going insane when the doors suddenly banged open, she turned around expecting to see a film crew instead there was a bloody great big Ape screaming at her to drive.
Simultaneously spilling her coffee and slamming the van into gear she abstractly wondered where Percy had taken his amateur dramatics classes or, in fact, his advanced English lessons.
She spun the wheel to the left and felt a huge weight bang against the side of the van “Where too?” she shouted. “What?” he yelled back. “I need to know where we are going?” She looked at him as he climbed over the seats. “I figured you would have thought of that, my local knowledge is pretty limited” he said, sitting himself down next to her. She sighed and accepted the inevitable. Forcing her flatmate to live with a gorilla would hardly be the worst of her sins today. She was sure that aiding an escaped gorilla was illegal in some way and she was definitely in breach of her van hire contract.
Lucy was surprisingly accepting of Aileen's Canadian cousin. Lucy was not a particularly well travelled person had even suggested they all go on a shopping trip because “That black woollen jumper makes him look like a school boy” so Aileen was happy to leave the two of them talking about Canada and only smiled slightly as she heard Percy describing the Tropical Rainforest's in Canada. She would have to buy him a lonely planet as a house warming gift.
Wednesday, 16 September 2009
Israeli Scuba Diving Terrorist
He was an Israeli scuba diving terrorist. It is important to realise that those traits were not a coincidence. He was not a terrorist that happened to be a scuba diver, nor was he a scuba diver that, by chance, was born in Israel. I would like to tell you he had a good cause, that he was fighting for the freedom of his people or to end a great injustice. Sadly, as is usually the case with men like him, his cause was a selfish one. A cause of his own making which he speaks about now with great pride as if, in completing his task, he was achieving his destiny.
Looking back now, the signs were all there but they are easy to miss if you are not looking. The glaze that would come over his eyes as he talked about the reef and the way he never seemed quite comfortable as if at some point he expected to be assaulted by an unknown entity. The copious amounts of Semtex he carried around with his dive gear. Yes the signs were there but I missed them. Not that I blame myself you understand. It wasn't just me who missed them. He fooled all of us with his wit and banter. Charmed his way passed the stringent security and health checks of the dive school and before you know it he was in. One of us, diving every day, drinking every night. After that he had the run of the place. We sometimes wondered where he would disappear to during the dives turning up again right at the end... I'm jumping ahead of myself, lets go back to the beginning. Of which there are two. His, and then ours.
His story starts on a reef, well actually, his story starts when his mum happened to meet his dad, in a random bar, in a random city after which they went to a random motel and then never saw each other again. 9 months later a little baby boy entered the world and 2 days after that he was named. We will call him Dan. Lets just say you don't want to be putting the real names of Israeli scuba diving terrorists on paper, it would have consequences. So little Dan entered the world and led a pretty ordinary life for 17 good years. His mum loved him and made sure he had everything he needed. It was a good life. At the age of 17 he went to Egypt to complete his Open Water course. Once complete and with 9 dives to his name he and a buddy went out diving by themselves.
Dan knew the motto, PADI had drilled it into his head, “leave nothing but bubbles, take nothing but photos” but, with no instructors around to stop him, he couldn't resist the temptation. He went around picking up coral, poking at rays and teasing the trigger fish. The thrill of fear as the triggers came for him was like a drug. Their teeth biting into his fins was the ultimate rush but like all drugs and all drug addicts it wasn't enough. On that fateful day he found himself an octopus. I don't know if you have ever seen one but they look pretty harmless. None of this monster of the deep crap you see in the movies. More like a blob of jelly dragging itself along the rocks.
I don't want to describe the scene for you, no-one deserves to have that in their memory. But it is only fair to tell the whole story. Dan pursued that octopus all over the reef, pulling it off rocks and watching it float helplessly in the water, poking it and teasing it. It is no surprise that it turned on him, everything will if you push it hard enough. 8 tentacles... eight! It is hard to imagine being violated so completely. Every inch of his body covered in sucker marks, not one orifice left unexplored. Only the octopus can tell you if it knew what it was doing but the damage was total in mind and body.
Serious amounts of surgery and pain medication kept his body alive. Hours and hours of psychotherapy returned his sanity to him. It took 3 years for him to get out of hospital. You would think that after an experience like that you would never dive again but he did, many times. I still remember the first time I met him. He was wearing a wetsuit, he always wears a wetsuit now, a pink bandanna and a black and white checked neck scarf. And he had this crazy look about him as if the whole ocean was waiting for him and he was working himself up to face it.
So this is where our story begins, on the back of a blue and orange boat bobbing in the Thai gulf off the coast of Koh Tao on a dive site called South West Pinnacle. I loved that site and I miss it dearly now. If we had known we would have done something we could have... should have stopped him... He was sitting at the back of the boat in his pink bandanna waiting. We were both doing our divemasters and, in spite of the alarm bells, we started talking. He had a wit which didn't match the look in his eyes and a good taste in music. You couldn't help liking him and, as I said before, it wasn't long before he had worked his way into the group. I realise now that it was all an act, the smiles and banter were a mask covering a darker side but it was a good mask, the cracks showed but we chose to see the good in him. It was that damn pink bandanna. Don't ask me why but it disarmed you. How could anyone wearing such a thing be dangerous? He couldn't hide in a crowd, couldn't sneak up on you. Even wore it when diving so you always knew who he was.
It was 1 month after he arrived when it kicked off. I've checked the schedules since and he would have been about a mile off the coast on a boat back to the mainland when it happened. The bastard saw the whole damn thing. Obviously, on his little excursions by himself he was setting timers and planting the Semtex around the island. There are many dive sites in Koh Tao but there are a lot of divers to see them. I can imagine him hovering along a rock face pretending to peer in on the life inside but really plotting its destruction. Quickly checking no-one was looking before setting the timer and sliding the little stick of Semtex into a crack. The fear of being caught swelling through your body and then the bitter sweet relief of success. Another dive, another site, and still no-one suspecting a thing.
The loss of life was uncountable. Only 5 divers were caught in the explosion as it was timed to go off at night and all at the same time. The divers bodies were never recovered. It is assumed the explosion ruptured their air tanks assuring their deaths many times over. Several boats sank but in most cases people escaped uninjured. On the beaches people partying got caught up in the huge waves that crashed to shore and, in their drunken disorientation swam out to sea instead of to the shore. Jets of water were launched hundreds of meters into the sky taking coral and fish with it. Most died instantly but we were finding angel fish with burn marks washing onto the beach for weeks after. Shark island still stands but looks nothing like a sharks fin any more and there are certainly no sharks.
We tried to dive the next day, tried to understand what happened and how bad it was but you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. It took a week for the debris to settle completely so we could see the extent of the damage. It was total. A war zone under the sea. Turtles cooked in their shells, A lone Nemo crying out to a wife and child who will never come home. I think the worst were the butterfly fish. I swear the survivors lost all their colour in mourning their partners. The surviving fish who didn't or couldn't flee the sites seemed to be dying of sadness. Otherwise healthy fish not even bothering to swim. Cleaner fish sitting still on the seabed ignoring everything around them, puffer fish not puffing. Even the trigger fish seemed to have given up.
There is no happy ending here, the terrorist won hands down. It took a few months but in the end all life left the reef. After that the island started to close down too. With no sites there were no divers and with no divers there was no money coming in. Businesses closed down one by one and with them went the employees. Thais left the island in their hundreds. The lady boys become just ordinary boys again and eventually they left too. before long even the ferries stopped coming. It's a ghost island now. Sometimes I walk the streets and imagine the crowds of people that used to be here, the excited chatter of new divers about to go into the sea for the first time and the wonder on their faces when they got back on the boat. The bar at 6pm just starting to fill up before a long nights party. It's all gone now and it will never come back.
Why Dan? I understand your pain, even thinking about what you went through makes me lose a bit of my sanity but dammit Dan we didn't even have any octopus on the reef!
----------
Disclaimer
You know a story like that needs a disclaimer, so firstly, the above story is PURE fiction, any resemblance to any person or situation whatsoever is COMPLETELY coincidental. So nobody sue me!
Secondly, We were drunk coming up with the idea and it only took me an hour to write. If you don't understand what the hell I am going on about it is because you were not in Koh Tao at the time of writing. Needless to say but everyone else finds it funny apart from you so what does that tell you?
----------
Looking back now, the signs were all there but they are easy to miss if you are not looking. The glaze that would come over his eyes as he talked about the reef and the way he never seemed quite comfortable as if at some point he expected to be assaulted by an unknown entity. The copious amounts of Semtex he carried around with his dive gear. Yes the signs were there but I missed them. Not that I blame myself you understand. It wasn't just me who missed them. He fooled all of us with his wit and banter. Charmed his way passed the stringent security and health checks of the dive school and before you know it he was in. One of us, diving every day, drinking every night. After that he had the run of the place. We sometimes wondered where he would disappear to during the dives turning up again right at the end... I'm jumping ahead of myself, lets go back to the beginning. Of which there are two. His, and then ours.
His story starts on a reef, well actually, his story starts when his mum happened to meet his dad, in a random bar, in a random city after which they went to a random motel and then never saw each other again. 9 months later a little baby boy entered the world and 2 days after that he was named. We will call him Dan. Lets just say you don't want to be putting the real names of Israeli scuba diving terrorists on paper, it would have consequences. So little Dan entered the world and led a pretty ordinary life for 17 good years. His mum loved him and made sure he had everything he needed. It was a good life. At the age of 17 he went to Egypt to complete his Open Water course. Once complete and with 9 dives to his name he and a buddy went out diving by themselves.
Dan knew the motto, PADI had drilled it into his head, “leave nothing but bubbles, take nothing but photos” but, with no instructors around to stop him, he couldn't resist the temptation. He went around picking up coral, poking at rays and teasing the trigger fish. The thrill of fear as the triggers came for him was like a drug. Their teeth biting into his fins was the ultimate rush but like all drugs and all drug addicts it wasn't enough. On that fateful day he found himself an octopus. I don't know if you have ever seen one but they look pretty harmless. None of this monster of the deep crap you see in the movies. More like a blob of jelly dragging itself along the rocks.
I don't want to describe the scene for you, no-one deserves to have that in their memory. But it is only fair to tell the whole story. Dan pursued that octopus all over the reef, pulling it off rocks and watching it float helplessly in the water, poking it and teasing it. It is no surprise that it turned on him, everything will if you push it hard enough. 8 tentacles... eight! It is hard to imagine being violated so completely. Every inch of his body covered in sucker marks, not one orifice left unexplored. Only the octopus can tell you if it knew what it was doing but the damage was total in mind and body.
Serious amounts of surgery and pain medication kept his body alive. Hours and hours of psychotherapy returned his sanity to him. It took 3 years for him to get out of hospital. You would think that after an experience like that you would never dive again but he did, many times. I still remember the first time I met him. He was wearing a wetsuit, he always wears a wetsuit now, a pink bandanna and a black and white checked neck scarf. And he had this crazy look about him as if the whole ocean was waiting for him and he was working himself up to face it.
So this is where our story begins, on the back of a blue and orange boat bobbing in the Thai gulf off the coast of Koh Tao on a dive site called South West Pinnacle. I loved that site and I miss it dearly now. If we had known we would have done something we could have... should have stopped him... He was sitting at the back of the boat in his pink bandanna waiting. We were both doing our divemasters and, in spite of the alarm bells, we started talking. He had a wit which didn't match the look in his eyes and a good taste in music. You couldn't help liking him and, as I said before, it wasn't long before he had worked his way into the group. I realise now that it was all an act, the smiles and banter were a mask covering a darker side but it was a good mask, the cracks showed but we chose to see the good in him. It was that damn pink bandanna. Don't ask me why but it disarmed you. How could anyone wearing such a thing be dangerous? He couldn't hide in a crowd, couldn't sneak up on you. Even wore it when diving so you always knew who he was.
It was 1 month after he arrived when it kicked off. I've checked the schedules since and he would have been about a mile off the coast on a boat back to the mainland when it happened. The bastard saw the whole damn thing. Obviously, on his little excursions by himself he was setting timers and planting the Semtex around the island. There are many dive sites in Koh Tao but there are a lot of divers to see them. I can imagine him hovering along a rock face pretending to peer in on the life inside but really plotting its destruction. Quickly checking no-one was looking before setting the timer and sliding the little stick of Semtex into a crack. The fear of being caught swelling through your body and then the bitter sweet relief of success. Another dive, another site, and still no-one suspecting a thing.
The loss of life was uncountable. Only 5 divers were caught in the explosion as it was timed to go off at night and all at the same time. The divers bodies were never recovered. It is assumed the explosion ruptured their air tanks assuring their deaths many times over. Several boats sank but in most cases people escaped uninjured. On the beaches people partying got caught up in the huge waves that crashed to shore and, in their drunken disorientation swam out to sea instead of to the shore. Jets of water were launched hundreds of meters into the sky taking coral and fish with it. Most died instantly but we were finding angel fish with burn marks washing onto the beach for weeks after. Shark island still stands but looks nothing like a sharks fin any more and there are certainly no sharks.
We tried to dive the next day, tried to understand what happened and how bad it was but you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. It took a week for the debris to settle completely so we could see the extent of the damage. It was total. A war zone under the sea. Turtles cooked in their shells, A lone Nemo crying out to a wife and child who will never come home. I think the worst were the butterfly fish. I swear the survivors lost all their colour in mourning their partners. The surviving fish who didn't or couldn't flee the sites seemed to be dying of sadness. Otherwise healthy fish not even bothering to swim. Cleaner fish sitting still on the seabed ignoring everything around them, puffer fish not puffing. Even the trigger fish seemed to have given up.
There is no happy ending here, the terrorist won hands down. It took a few months but in the end all life left the reef. After that the island started to close down too. With no sites there were no divers and with no divers there was no money coming in. Businesses closed down one by one and with them went the employees. Thais left the island in their hundreds. The lady boys become just ordinary boys again and eventually they left too. before long even the ferries stopped coming. It's a ghost island now. Sometimes I walk the streets and imagine the crowds of people that used to be here, the excited chatter of new divers about to go into the sea for the first time and the wonder on their faces when they got back on the boat. The bar at 6pm just starting to fill up before a long nights party. It's all gone now and it will never come back.
Why Dan? I understand your pain, even thinking about what you went through makes me lose a bit of my sanity but dammit Dan we didn't even have any octopus on the reef!
----------
Disclaimer
You know a story like that needs a disclaimer, so firstly, the above story is PURE fiction, any resemblance to any person or situation whatsoever is COMPLETELY coincidental. So nobody sue me!
Secondly, We were drunk coming up with the idea and it only took me an hour to write. If you don't understand what the hell I am going on about it is because you were not in Koh Tao at the time of writing. Needless to say but everyone else finds it funny apart from you so what does that tell you?
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