Twelve mile island, part 2

The summer of 2003 had started off as one of the best by far. Danny had flown up; hot dogs were shared, trampolines were bounced on. The air was teaming with vitality, just as we had all hoped for. Deep down, though, we didn't expect anything like what was happening. Each summer before and after that we'd wait, year after year, for summer, cautious not to build momentum toward an unsatisfactory outcome. We'd prepare ourselves for the worse. Out of respect for each other, we'd keep our building excitement throughout the school year at bay. I think that, perhaps, it was our silent, persistant supplications that pulled through in making most of our summers memorably epic. Sometimes, it was as if every summer were our last, and that scared the poo out of my butt. Mabye that's why the current journey I was embarking on seemed so considerably definitive.

My mind had become replete with anger and anguish. The sun began to pound down on my bare, wet skin, amplifying the intensity of the cold parts of the rest of my body. Just when I thought I had progressed in my journey, I had floated back what seemed like miles and miles of hard work. My kayak began to swirl toward home. Working it back toward the island, I had made the unconscious decision to keep paddling; my mind was too busy considering what I was doing, whether I should keeping doing it, whether "it" was anything at all, and whether it was anything of importance. Along with that I was still conceiving how I could've floated back so fast, all the more relishing the phenomenon I had recently witnessed. I finally deduced that perhaps the rapid speed of the rising sun was merely an optical illusion; a result of having floated down with the current of the river past the various heights of trees.
Once my arms started to ache, I began to realize what a sisyphean task this was turning out to be. Every 5 seconds I stopped, I floated back 15 feet. As a result, I couldn't stop to eat the only sustenance I had on board. My body was cold, warm, worn out, and the island was still at least another hour and a half away.
I had just made the decision to turn around and go back, for sure this time, when my anger peaked again. The idea of giving up pissed me off even more, and was just enough to get me back to paddling. Anger replaced sentiment, and I soon found that the substitute was just the thing I needed. Waves crashed back and forth, up and against the sides of the boat. Bits of water splashed against my face, breaking the intensity of the exhausting heat. My arms began to quiver, along with my legs and torso. No, I didn't feel amazing, but I felt powerful. Right then and there I began to understand how powerful I could be, and what power I thought we all held. Little did I know, I'd soon be a stone's throw away from the island.