Island | H.S.

Chapter 7

Silk and jewelry and dampened flowers are thrown in the air as Harry and Isla rummage through the latest treasures from pirate season.

"Harry..." Isla whispers. Her voice quivers as her hands grasp tarnished silver. "Harry..."

She's beside herself as she lifts a beautifully designed hand mirror. She keeps it pointed down at first, only seeing her tanned neck.

"Is that... what I think?" Harry grabs it from her hand, also nervous to look at his new form. "Let's do this together."

He plops down next to her on the beach, the two holding the stem of the mirror together. Fingers over fingers. Before they pull it up, Harry moves Isla's hair over her shoulders to reveal her in all her glory.

"I want you to see what I see," he comments.

She nods with a nervous smile and they slowly lift the delicate, salt water-stained glass up to look at themselves.

The people staring back at them are completely unfamiliar. Traces of their former selves look nervously at their older faces. Lines that weren't there before are now more pronounced in the midst of their sunburnt skin. Isla's hair, which was once a bouncy short blonde bob is now long, frazzled golden waves. Harry's bones are more pronounced with stubble speckling his chiseled jawline. The reflection contained strangers. Beautiful, confused strangers.

"Wow," Isla says breathily, angling the mirror down to her chest.

"I know..." Harry eyes her supple breasts beside his fit pectoral muscles. The black ink scattered across his skin had never been seen in such a way. It's like they're looking through a telescope and observing a new planet with living souls no one has ever been in contact with before. They run their fingers across their chapped skin in wonderment like they're exploring strangers' bodies.

"I- I- I'm so..." Isla, a usually talkative girl, struggles to find the correct adjective.

"Gorgeous," Harry finishes her sentence.

It never resonated with either of them how long they'd actually been on the island until they saw the faces of their aged bodies staring back at them. The view is surreal. A dream during a comatose state. It is in this moment they secretly resolve to themselves they need to figure a way out. Not tomorrow. Maybe not a month from now. But they can't spend eternity here.

Harry breaks the silence, unwilling to continue the awkward interaction with his own reflection. He digs his hands through the trunks before him.

"What are you finding?" Isla asks, still admiring her frame in the mirror.

"You know the deal. We celebrate pirate season tonight and I'm trying to find you a gift. Don't look." He halts. She pauses.

Isla can see Harry grasp something white. Delicate. Lacey. He maneuvers his body to hide the discovery.

"What did you find?" Isla asks, trying to see what he found.

"Don't! It's tradition!" Harry rolls the lace into a ball and runs back to their main home to hide her gift. "YOU'LL SEE TONIGHT!" he yells as he trips in the soft sand with excitement.

"Such a silly boy," she laughs to herself. She continues her exploration through the garments when her fingers brush by soft, damp black fabric. She lifts the layers above to reveal a neatly pressed black tuxedo. She's never seen anything so perfect. It looks never worn. Something meant to be given as a gift to Harry.

Isla examines the width of the shoulders. The length of the tails. She is no seamstress but the fit looks perfect for him. She studied his body enough at this point where she can tell when something will slip onto him like a glove and this is it.

She delicately folds the jacket, shirt, tie and pants and presses them against her body.

"You find somethin'?" Harry's deep voice startles her.

"The deal, remember?" She says, stepping away from him. "I'm going to hide this. Get ready for the ceremony tonight."

The sun has fallen. The sizzle of its hot surface could be heard from across the ocean as it dropped into the cool ocean. Harry uses a makeshift shovel to break the sand and dig a deep hole.

This was their tradition. They always took what they thought they needed and wanted from the trunks and suitcases that washed up onto shore. But the remnants of what was discovered were pushed into the ground. These people were deserving of a proper burial, whether or not it was their real bodies or not. These items contained the souls of the people they were benefiting from. The loss of their lives are the reasons Harry and Isla are able to carry on. Their short-lived existence would not go down in vain. Harry and Isla made sure of that.

Harry tosses sand atop a photo album, a locket, a locked journal and other pieces of memorabilia. Items that they felt were sacrilegious to go through. Physical manifestations of those that have assisted them.

Isla watches as the tiny rocks cover a small, sewn together doll. She remembers being a young girl herself. How she clung to her dolly for comfort. She wonders what the child must have gone through prior to loosening their grip on the button eyes and yarn hair of their best friend. Her heart breaks with every new scoop of ground.

"Isla," Harry pauses. He walks over to her and kisses her on the forehead. "It's okay," he says against her skin. "We'll give each other our gifts after this."

She smiles up at him. Their ceremony keeps them connected to the world beyond the island. It is tough for them to find the words of gratitude they feel for these people. The poor souls that perished against heathens. Innocent lives falling at the feet of those that had no regard for their lives. Harry and Isla would though. They always would.

"Can you hear it, princess?" Harry grabs Isla's chin and directs her attention towards the sunset. Her shallow, panicked breathing starts to calm. It could have been their clothes that would be buried now by others stranded. But it wasn't. They take solace in that. "If you listen carefully, you can hear the sun hit the water. Listen."

Isla smiles at the view. A sad smile. Harry said the same words every ceremony but this was the first time she could hear the sincerity in his voice. The earnestness of the moment.

He takes her hand into his and grasps tightly.

"Say it with me," Harry comments. They both bow their heads.

In unison, they give their prayer — "We give thee thanks for all thy benefits and for the poor souls of the faithful departed. May they rest in peace. Amen."