He punched the man in the face again and this time, his nose broke. He turned around, weeping like a child and ran for the shed where he had kept his raft. Even if he was going to die on sea, at least he’d have the satisfaction of knowing he died trying to correct his mistake.
He dragged the raft to the sea and started to paddle away. The man had survived the journey, so could he. He probably had a better chance of survival since he knew the way to the little island.
Or so he thought.
He got lost on sea and didn’t find the island after three days of incessant searching and luckily for him, the water had receded when he got there. He spent a whole day building a new raft and the only food he kept with him were the fruits he had picked in the island.
He caught a cold, but that didn’t stop him from setting out the next day. He felt that whatever was going to happen to him because of the cold, he really did deserve it.
He got to the village on the second day.
But as soon as the island came into view, his heart skipped a couple of beats. The first thing he saw was the smoke. The huge black smoke. Tears dropped from his eyes as he paddled hurriedly to the shore.
He couldn’t say which one hit him first, the hot air coming from the village or the sight in front of him. Venus.
She sat by a stump on the shore looking into the sea with closed eyes. She was holding a little stick in one hand and clutching a bundle of rag in the other.
He stepped down from his raft and walked towards her with wide eyes. How the hell had she survived? She was the thinnest person he had ever seen in his life and certainly the worst.