Innocence takes many forms and I always felt sorry for this guy… Here’s his side of the story, before his guests arrive.
Lightning strikes out to sea, something in the roar makes me rise and walk to the beach. I stand, my feet in the freezing shallows. A great fork strikes again. The image stays on my eye. The dark horizon creeps back in slowly. The bolt of light has torn the peace of the night and I stand, unable to turn away.
Familiar anger rises. I close my eye and breathe. I smell the beach, the seaweed washed up from yesterday’s storm. I breathe and feel the anger let go of my throat. I smell my herd of sheep.
I hear the cry of an animal in between the unending roar of the sea. I recognise it. It is the cry of a lamb for its mother, a comforting sound to me. I see a flash of light, even with my eye closed. Its mother’s reply is lost under another crack of thunder out to sea, closer this time.
Like this, the footsteps of the gods grow closer to my island. I can see them, even with my eye shut.
I wonder if I should give thanks to the gods for something. It has been so long since I thanked them for anything. Another fork of light strikes from the heavens to the sea. It has been a while since they thanked me for anything either. I wonder for some time if we are even. I think we are. But, what would they say?
I sit down in the surf and splash some water on my face. It is cool and eases the hot anxiety I feel creeping across my neck.
Nobody is going to take my island away from me. Nobody is going to ruin everything I have spent my life building, my flock, my hills, my home.