Desired Pit of Despair

I stand on the rocky shores of my island, Waves crash towards my feet, foaming between my toes on the empty beach. No Kings. No Masters. No Gods. Only I. The shores were as barren as the land itself. The shore froths from its mouth, suffocating in disgust at what it has become. And I sneer with sadistic glee as it gasps its final breaths. I see unidentified vessels approaching the wasteland I am bound to. I balance between the pointy pebbles that pierce my sole. I can vaguely see the shifting shapes sliding straight through the sea. It is a fleet of individual sailors, looking to find claim on my barren bay. My blood races, like an Olympian sprinter charging towards the flaming torches. Yet, I haven't moved. An electric surge courses through my body with the power of a metropolis. Yet I haven't moved. Senses heightened tenfold; I can smell the salt oozing out of the sea, I feel the air whistling in my ears from the east with a tickle, the thirst tormenting the tip of my tongue, the shriek of seagulls shattering my eardrums, and the detail of each and every ship, from port to starboard, is clear to me. Yet, I haven't moved. From this desired pit of despair.