Yay, happy birthday, Harry!

"Torment (Part 2)"

You close the journal. There are no more entries. He always did leave things unfinished. You're not like, him though. You took care of the men who put him here. It was all too easy, once you stripped them of their conceited bodyguards and their fancy security devices. Proudly, you remember the looks on their faces when they saw you. You remember their stuttering mouths mumbling how it was impossible, how you couldn't have known. You recall the satisfaction of seeing the life slowly drain from their bodies and onto the white linoleum. It had been far too easy.

You see the cave that he wrote of. You are compelled towards it, towards the unknown. You have no idea what awaits, but you can't resist the urge to find out. It is dark, just as he said, but you hear no noises, no strange, fearsome noises, just the ocean breeze.

The silence is broken by the click of a caulking pistol. You feel cold steel against the back of your head. The journal slips from your hands. It hits the ground with a soft thud. You hear a whisper in your ear,

"Now I can finish the job," you hear the voice say. You look down and see your father's corpse holding a collection of spears. You've reached the end of your story. It turns out you were just like him. Even though you had worked so hard, travelled to the ends of the civilized world, even stretched the bounds of your own sanity, you still couldn't finish it. You failed, just like he did. You hear a loud bang and fall to the ground. You close your eyes, and all is quiet.

It is night.

"Torment (Part 1)"
Word Count (of the whole story): 1,684

It is night.

All is quiet, and you don't see how such a horrible form of torture could be committed here. Yet, here you stand, where it all happened. Lying before you in the brush is the journal, the one they told you about, the one that would reveal everything. You reach down for it, but your hand stops short of grasping it. Do you really want to know? One half of you is unsure, the other is firmly determined. You pluck the book from its resting place, and you open it to the first page:

Day 1 9:30 AM

I have a bad feeling in my stomach. There is something amiss here, but it is well hidden. I awoke here, in this jungle, just a few hours ago with nothing more than my clothes, this journal, and a pen. I pray that I do not run out of ink, as this may very well serve as my last will and testament.

I do not recall the events of the past few days. My most recent memory is of saying my farewells to my wife and my child. I was going on a business trip, and I was going to be away for a while, so I was beginning to become somewhat emotional. I do not know why. I have been on business trips before, and I was never so emotional before leaving for any of them. Come to think of it, I do not recall what the trip was about in the first place.

In any event, I will be occasionally writing in this as a way to record new findings, new events. I do not know why, but it just seems like the thing to do in this situation. I will be taking a rest, as I feel doggedly tired for some reason.

Day 2 11:00 PM

Today, I began searching around my new habitat, which turns out to be a small island. It is approximately five-hundred paces by two-thousand paces, and appears to be deserted, devoid even of animals and fruit-bearing plants. It seems that my diet will consist of leaves and roots until I find some rescue.

The night is... different here. Even though I have scoured every square foot of the island, I feel that there is something here, something vicious. I feel it behind every bush, lurking within every pond, creeping over my shoulder when I am not looking. Already, it has begun affecting my judgement.

There is a cave. I found it around dusk. It was dark, and I could hear noises, strange, fearsome noises coming from it. I decided that I would search it tomorrow, with the aid of sunlight. Right now, I must sleep, despite my every instinct to stay awake, on my guard.

Day 3 3:00 AM

A strange noise awoke me. I feel a chill running down my spine. It was probably just the trees rustling, but it disturbs me all the same.

Day 3 9:00 PM

The water is salty, even in the ponds. I cannot drink it without gagging. Nonetheless, I must become accustomed to it. I feel somewhat better. It has not bothered me tonight. I have probably proven to be too healthy to hunt. How long will that last?

Day 5 8:00 PM

It is rather light out for eight at night. It feels more like five in the afternoon. Nonetheless, I did not write yesterday, why must I be expected to. Not much happened. I ate, I drank, I rested. There was not much that I want to do. I do not even remember what it was I wanted to investigate.

Today, I saw my reflection in the pond. I did not realize that my beard had grown so much in such a short amount of time. I could barely find my mouth without opening it. I could hardly recognize myself. The things time does to us... I wonder how my family is faring without me...

Day 9 10:46 PM

I don't know if that is actually the time. My watch has been moving in an erratic pattern recently, and I can't trust it to tell the real time anymore. It is night. I am sure of that because it is dark, very dark. I still haven't looked into the cave, nor have I so much as gone within paces of it. It scares me, even in the daytime. It does not become any less dark, nor do the noises cease. I may never inspect it. I may not survive to inspect it. I no longer care. All that matters to me right now is returning to my family. I have built a pyre and shall light it tomorrow, and I have begun construction of a raft just in case help does not come within a reasonable amount of time.

Day 12 1:15 PM?

This watch is definitely malfunctioning. I will keep it for a few more days in the hopes that it will correct itself. As I sit here on the beach, I can't help but feel that I have forgotten why I wanted to leave this island in the first place. There is no pollution here, no war, not yet anyway. This island is the most peace I have had in years, even with the terror stalking me.

Day 15 12:00 Noon

I have forsaken my watch. It has stopped altogether. I gather that it is noon because there are no shadows on the beach. No shadows, meaning that the terror should have nowhere to hide, but I still can't find it, and I still know it's out there, somewhere. I've not set foot anywhere near the cave, not for six days. I know that it's hiding there, waiting for me to come running, begging for an easy death. I won't give it the satisfaction. The pyre is still lit, though finding wood is becoming difficult. I had to use the materials I was going to use to make the raft. I'm sure that someone is out there looking for me. Someone has to be out there looking.

Day 16 11:00 AM (1:00 PM?)

I can no longer remember which way is north. I used to know, but I don't anymore. I have taken down most of the trees and used them for firewood. I am sure that someone is looking for me now. I heard a plane flying nearby just a few hours ago. I wonder why they didn't see my fire?

I cannot wait to be back home with my family, away from the terror. I will tell them of how I survived here. They will be glad that I'm alive, and I can forget this god forsaken rock. I am sure now that it is hidden in the cave, waiting for me. I saw a pair of eyes blink for a split second in the middle of the night. I have not seen it since, but I know that it was real. It is sitting there, waiting for me, just as I sit here, waiting for rescue.

Day 17

I no longer care what time it is. Neither does it. All it cares about is me. It wants me dead. I foolishly threw every tree into the pyre. I have nothing to use to defend myself. I am forced every day to see the cave. It taunts me silently, waiting for an easy prey. I know that it will get me. No one is coming for me. No one cares. Still, I must persist. I cannot let it win. I am a man. I am superior. I must survive. I must triumph.

Day 18

I can't take anymore. I have nothing left. No one is coming. I was deluded to think otherwise. The terror knows my desperation. It thinks it knows me well. I will show it that I am not so easy to know. I have put out the fire. No one is coming anyway. I have taken what I can from the pile. I have made weapons. I will go to it. I will fight it. I will win. I will come back. I will wipe its blood in this book. I will live on this island. I will feast on its meat. Today, I am king of this land, not it.

Okay, all sounds good. So, when's the Writing Portal comin' out?

At 4/9/09 09:48 PM, I-RULE-OVER-ALL wrote: He doesn't really look like him, when is this whole chuck norris fad going to die out?

You see, the problem is that, when one generation gets bored with it, there's always that one guy who deems it worthy to pass on to the next generation. Because of this, the chuck norris fad will most likely never die. It's much like Naruto's fanbase.