The island I was on was a luscious, tropical island. It had a beach that only the God’s could dream of. It was a spotless cream colour that felt velvety under our worn and blistered feet. The beach was spotted with ten feet high palm trees. There exotic green leaves swayed in the gentle breeze. Behind the towering palm trees was the dense forest. Above in the high canopy, birds sang to impress, monkeys howled to mark their territory and flowers began to bloom. Higher than the tree canopy, was the volcano itself. It was the colour of mahogany and russet. However at the bottom of the immense giant was a vast land of solid lava that had frozen and become a dull grey rock. The volcano was dormant and smoke did not come out of the cracks at the body or the mouth of the volcano. Below the volcano the blue ocean was restless, crashing up at the few cliffs that the island has. The White Sea foam was launching everywhere. The breeze that was coming of the sea was bitter with salt.