A short story that I wrote for english class. Contains "Magical Realism" which is a type of writing.

Essay by jameslinHigh School, 10th grade December 2006

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The Man from the Horizon

Monday was the day that he came to the island. He was on the shore and he did not look like anyone that I knew. I was sure that he was not here before, and I am certain he was here now. The features of his body did not reveal if he was a man or a woman, but he emitted a vibe that could only be that of a man. His vibe was sensed by instinct, much like the vibe of danger. His presence scared me at first and kept me at me away, but in the end it left me curious. The women I know on the island have all been here since they were born, but this new man did not act like a native. He didn't act like a woman.

I looked around to see if anyone else had seen the newcomer, but there was no one around.

I turned back to the man and found that he was no longer there. However, I could still sense that he was about, and I continued to look for him. He was the one right in front of me, where he had been before, but now he was dressed like the rest of us. He wore a blue pair of jeans and a red and white striped shirt; I had completely forgot what he was wearing before.

The man began to walk down the beach. He passed many women as he walked. No one seemed to notice that he was different, and if I had not seen him before he dressed I would not have noticed either. But I did see him before, and I was attracted to the vibes he emitted like a hound to a scent. I was so curious I inadvertently became a stalker. Not wanting to lose him, I asked a woman to watch him as I got something to eat at a beach stall. She asked me who he was. I replied, "He's a man." She laughed and said that there are no men on this island. When I got back the man had not moved, as if he were waiting for something; he was waiting for me.

As I returned to my position behind him, he started to walk again. He walked along the beach, looking at nothing but the sky. He walked with assertion, kicking up bits of sand as he took each step, and he never looked anywhere but straight out to the horizon. The island was not small but eventually we made it back to where I first saw him. His left foot landed in the sand and he stopped. He sat down and continued to look at the horizon. The moon was up and it was full, a great white circle in the sky, but the man did not pay any attention to it. He continued to gaze at the sky.

I approached him, "why do you stare at the sky?" I asked him.

"That is not the sky. That is the horizon. That is the line in which too planes meet ;--where the earth meets the heavens." He replied

"Then why do you look at the horizon?" I insisted. Even when he spoke his eyes never left the line drawn in the sky.

"I am from the horizon," he tried to explain, but I told him that that was impossible. No one could reach the horizon.

He took his hand and reached towards me,

"That is where I'm from. I will show you."

I hesitated and then refused. I did not believe that he could reach the horizon. I had been on the island my entire life. I knew no matter how far you went towards the horizon you would never meet it. As if he could read my mind he replied, "I once too believed that you could not reach the horizon, but now I am here. When I return to my horizon, I will look back and know there is something there even though I cannot see it. And the horizon can be met even if it keeps moving away." With that he walked into the water and swam until I could not longer see him. I looked once more to the horizon -- where the heavens met the earth -- and I looked to the shore where the water met the land. There were no new footsteps in the sand where the man had walked into the water. The steps that he had taken when he left were the exact same as the ones he took when he came. His footsteps came from the water, went around the island, and then left. I followed his steps through the night and the next day they were gone, washed away by the tide.