I’m not entirely sure how I wound up passed out on the beach of some strange island. I have some vague recollections of a cruise ship, a messy breakup, and a ton of cocktails, but everything else seems like a bit of a blur to me. I suppose I might have fallen over the side of the ship into the ocean, but how come nobody tried to save me? Is this all a dream and I’m just in a coma of some kind in a hospital bed? I don’t think so, because I could feel the sand in my fingers and hear the waves and the seagulls.
I remember still feeling pretty out of it though. I probably wasn’t conscious on that beach for too long because I woke up some time later in some kind of thatched beach hut. I was laying on a woven grass bedroll, aware of how suddenly very healthy my body felt. I felt alarmingly healthy if that makes sense, with no aches or fatigue or even a sore throat or stuffed nose. My legs felt stronger than they ever had in a long time as I stood up to stretch and yawn.
It was a fairly small single room hut that I found myself standing in. Near as I could tell it was sparsely furnished with just the bedroll, a cooking fire in the center, a large chest woven out of dried grass and bamboo, herbs and berries and fish strung up on the walls with twine, and inexplicably a standing full-body mirror. I went to look at myself in it to discover myself completely naked. I had shaggy brown hair with bangs that hung past my eyes, which I clearly didn’t remember having. I wondered how long I’d been passed out for if my hair had gotten that bushy. My body was fairly mediocre for what it’s worth. Dull, peachy complexion, no abdominal or pectoral definition to speak of, lanky arms and legs, and no real outstanding traits outside of that. Even my junk was pretty mediocre.
As I stared at myself in the mirror, I heard someone else walk into the hut. Instinctively my head turned towards the direction of the noise to see who made it. It must’ve been the owner of this hut, I supposed. She appeared to be a somewhat short woman, couldn’t be taller than five feet by my estimation. Her skin suggested that she spent the majority of her day in the sun, judging by how tanned it was. She had long dark hair with white flowers threaded all through it, and sparkling green eyes. The only thing she wore that could be considered clothing was a skirt made of leaves that hung around her fairly ample hips and butt. Outside of that and some bracelets and anklets made of more white flowers she was pretty much naked.
The woman noticed that I was awake and walked over to me. She seemed to ask me a question, but I couldn’t answer because she was speaking in a language I’d never heard before. She saw the confusion in my face and asked the question again, slowly this time. I shook my head.
“I don’t know what you’re saying,” I said plainly. The woman tilted her head wonderingly, and tapped her foot a bit. She suddenly lit up as she held her hands out in front of her. She closed her eyes, and made intricate sweeping movements with her arms. Trails of light streaked through her hands like ribbons as she performed her strange dance, which then suddenly flowed into my chest as she thrust her hands forward once again. With a deep exhale, she dropped her arms and opened her eyes at me again.
“There we go,” she suddenly said in plain English, “Can you understand what I’m saying now, mister man?” She certainly sounded like she was speaking English, but her lips didn’t line up with any of the words she said. Nevertheless, I nodded and answered.
“Pretty clearly,” I answered. The girl looked at me with a slight bit of surprise.
“Oops,” she gasped, “I only made it so that you could understand my language, and forgot to make it so that I could understand your language! I’m a bit embarrassed with myself. Some shaman I’m turning out to be. Let me perform another dance.” The woman swept her arms around in another dance, only this time the trails of light went into her own chest. “That should do it now. So, how do you feel, mister man?”
“I feel alright,” I answered, “Better than alright, actually. I’ve never felt better!”
“Ah, wonderful!” the woman clapped her hands gleefully, “So my healing magics have been improving! I’m a great shaman after all!”
“Magic?” I asked.
“Certainly,” the woman nodded, “I suppose magic is pretty much forgotten where you come from?”
“Where am I, then?” I asked, “And on that note, who are you?”
“My name is Naomi,” the shaman woman explained, “and you’re on Magicana, the last magical place in the world. Magic has flowed through this land for thousands of centuries, even as it faded away from the rest of the world. It must have all gathered here some thousands and thousands of years ago by some great force. I’ve lived here all my life, training as a healing shaman. I found you washed up on the beach several days ago and have been nursing you back to health.”
“Okay hold on,” I stopped her, “You’re telling me that magic is real but only on this island?”
“Exactly,” Naomi nodded, “That’s why we can talk to each other and why your body was rejuvenated. Say, what’s your name by the way, since we’re talking about it?”
“Norman,” I answered, “Norman Jones.”
“Nice to meet you, Norman,” Naomi grinned.
“Nice to meet you too,” I replied, “Uhh, where are my clothes?”
“Just outside, drying,” Naomi explained, “I can go get them for you if you like.”