The Trapeze Swinger

3.3

I had to get off the island, that much was clear.

It was not until the next day that I felt strong enough to even so much as leave my bed, staring into space and playing the events in the recording studio over and over again inside my head. Between the confusion of how I'd felt stroking my hands over a wounded 2D to the unbearable cruelty of his words, the mere thought of seeing him again left me sick and panicked.

Murdoc said there were collaborators that were coming to and from the island. That means there has to be a way on and off, all I have to do is find it and then get the fuck out of here.

Pushing myself from my foetal position on the rucked bedspread, I padded barefoot to the doorway and looked out cautiously to check that Noodle wasn't around before making my way over to the clunking elevator. My heart was beating hard in my mouth as I waited for it to trundle down to the B3 floor, pressing myself against the wall out of sight just in case Murdoc or the cyborg girl decided to pay me a visit.

No one exited the lift however, and I stepped inside with a breath of relief. There was new graffiti on the walls, something almost illegible in blue biro. I squinted at it, but could only make out the words "forgive me for", the rest slanting into scribble. With a shrug I pressed the button for the ground floor, tapping my feet impatiently as the doors scraped slowly to a close.

When they opened, I was met with the stomach-turning stench of festering garbage, wheezing as I stepped out into the dimly lit foyer of the Plastic Beach house. Overflowing black garbage bags sat in stinking piles against the walls and spilling out rotting refuse across the metal patchwork floor.

Gagging at the smell, I stepped lightly through the waste and over to the large steel door just ahead. A porthole window set in the heavy panel allowed me a glimpse of the heaven-sent beach beyond, out in the fresh open sea air, and I felt my stomach flutter with a strange trepidation as I grabbed a hold of the door handle and wrenched it open.

What air lay waiting for me outside may have been open sea air, but it smelt anything but fresh. The curdling smell of trash prevailed, less strong than in the foyer but nevertheless enough to have me wrinkling my nose as I breathed it in. Looking out across the bright pink beach that gave the island it's name, I was horrified to realise it wasn't a real beach at all, at least not by any rational means.
                    Stretching out before me wasn't sand, it was shrapnel; pieces of broken plastic and polystyrene, rubber and rags. It shimmered in the sunlight with oil slicks and great sloughs of peeling pink paint that gave the impression of some terrible skin-shedding serpent that had coiled itself around the island.

I cautiously stepped out onto the alien landscape before me, grimacing as my bare foot slid in the muck. Black oil that I guessed was from the careless leakages of ships out at sea oozed between my toes, and I gagged at the sight.

In the distance, right out at the water's edge was the steps onto the wharf I had seen from Murdoc's study a few days ago, yet where there had previously only been a sea plane there was also now a small boat moored and rocking gently with the tide.

Perfect.

I took another step, only to feel something squish beneath my foot with a terrible squelching sound.

Do not look down. Don't you dare.

Gritting my teeth, I set off down the beach of trash with my eyes kept determinedly on the boat ahead. With every footfall I tripped and stumbled on the uneven surface, putrid scents wafting towards me until they were gradually replaced by the salty tang of the ocean. The trash underfoot became wet instead of oily, and it was with a jolt that I felt the lapping touch of the tideline just as I reached the beginning of the wooden jetty.