Chapter 8: The Echo of the Castaway

I was adjusting my jacket, ready to begin my walk back to the cabin, when the air was cut off by a deafening sound. A hoarse, loud scream, charged with absolute impotence and a deeply heartbreaking pain. It was a scorching wail that made the stones of the cliff vibrate. So, exactly like that, my own scream would have been heard from a distance.

I turned carefully, holding my breath.

A few yards away, hidden until a moment ago by the curve of the rock, was he. She was wearing sportswear, and the wind whipped her hair, revealing a clean haircut. Hearing my footsteps, he turned his face towards me. His blue eyes, intense as the sea around us, no longer looked as desolate as the previous days. They had recovered a spark of fire, a trace of life. I felt a twinge of genuine joy for him. We had come to the same slaughterhouse to heal.

He stared at me for a second that seemed eternal. Then, the edges of her lips curled sideways into a small, subtle, grateful smile.

"Thank you," was all he said. His voice was deep, rough from the effort of the scream.

He turned and began to descend the cliff path, losing sight among the low vegetation. I was left alone again at the top, but this time with my heart beating at a different rate. We were no longer two strangers looking at each other with pity on a beach; We were now two survivors sharing the same purified air.