The island had been my prison, but it had much beauty. After my decision I was unable to see it. All I knew was the roar of my own rage and the anticipation of what I would do. I did not care what happened to me afterwards.
The next time the guard came, I saw him first. I gripped the sharpened stick behind my back as I approached, though I was still some distance away, descending the rippled beige crest of a large dune.
As I reached the bottom of the dune, gripping the knife I had fashioned from a piece of wood, I was surprised by a familiar voice in my head. It was the voice of the old man I had met so many years ago.
He said:
“The only perpetrator is you, yourself.”
And then, with great compassion and kindness:
“The mark of a good human being is in how much reality they can hold and still be kind.”
With that, an epiphany flashed inside me, and I understood that the guard and I were of the same mind, and that killing him would be the same as taking my own life. Then I realized in a second flash that every blow and insult he had visited on me was waiting patiently to return to him in its own
good time, and with that realization I felt sorry for both of us.
Walking toward him over the dune, I dropped my knife and began to smile. For the first time since I had come to the island, I felt I was not alone. He hit me across the face three times, then punched me in the stomach until I fell to the ground. The sound of each blow was like the sound of a bell, ringing to mark my liberation.