A Quiet Spot (Part 2)

Steezy: The name of my closest partner in my resort enterprise. The partnership forged between me and him was one that greatly helped in bringing his species into friendly terms with the galaxy at large, as well as forming one of my tightest friendships outside of my usual circle. Now, due to the immense gap between languages it was much easier to designate an English name to every Ssi-Ruuk rather than translate it all, hence is why he was referred to as Steezy. As the name would suggest he was a laid-back and calm sort, like a surfer kind of. Yet he was reliable and often took over the business proceedings whenever I was away, and definitely stays calm under pressure. His easy-going attitude was what got me to like him right off the bat, but to think: He having a sister? Suddenly this chance encounter had become very interesting.

"Really?" was my follow-up response to that surprising bit of information. "Hunh, I didn't know he had a sister."

"Not surprising that nobody around here would know. He's a little over-protective of me; sometimes taking it a bit too far."

"Is that so?" I gave a slight chuckle. Imagine that: Cool-headed Steezy being an overly protective brother. I would have found that funnier if I wasn't already finding it hard to believe. And then she said,

"My name is Sylvia by the way. Nice to meet you."
Sylvia...

"Eh, Squishy. Nice to meet you too," I said to her.

"So your name really is Squishy?"

"Yeah it is. Weird, right?" Squishy: The result of a youth spent playing video games and slacking off, earning me a namesake befitting a person of absolute laziness in the eyes of my people. Even now I still procrastinate, though not as much as I used too. Anyways, she spoke again.

"It's a little strange, but from what my brother has been telling me you are a rather unique character."

"Heh, he wouldn't be wrong there." The things that I had done in the past have elevated me to the level of an icon, but it came with the territory of my other, and more renowned, occupation sadly. She gave a light laugh at my agreement to her brother's claim. A Velociraptor laughing gently... strange, yes?

"Don't take it too hard. He also said you were a pretty nice guy, and I can see that he was right."

"Why, thank you. You're rather nice yourself."

"I'm just being polite. Being among so many different types of people, being kind and courteous is the best strategy."

"That it certainly is. Or give them free stuff; that usually works." My weak attempt at being funny got a kindly chuckle out of her. Some more silence followed, with me looking back down at my guitar caressing my hand over the strings. Luckily this period of quiet was shorter than the last, as Sylvia spoke up again.

"That's a nice-looking guitar you have there. Were you practicing earlier?"

"Yeah a little. Nothing in-depth; just something to keep my fingers preoccupied."

"Have you been composing any songs?"

"No. I don't compose. I just like playing other people's songs. Songs that I like."

"Ah. So you're only half a musician."

"Guess you could say that." Again, my pride... "Want to hear my favorite tune?"

"Sure. Some music would be nice."

"Okay." I began plucking at strings with a pattern in mind. "Just let me warm up."

"Alright." My short fingers twanged and picked strings at a moderate pace, in order to loosen them. All was quiet again save for the light breeze, the waves and my guitar fiddling.

"So Steezy brought you here to meet new people. What do you think of this place so far?" I asked to stir up conversation until I was ready to perform.

"Its beautiful here; so different from our home world. There's water everywhere, and only islands instead of continents. And the calmness of everything... I can see why Steezy likes it so much here."

"Yeah. It's one of my favorite places too, for that precise reason. How about the people at the party? Meet anyone interesting?"

"I didn't really meet anyone. Just had idle talk with a few people. Everyone was having their own fun and talking with other people they knew, and there were so many kinds of people there. It was almost uncomfortable being around so many."

"Crowds tend to do that, especially when you're the one thing that sticks out the most." She gave a slight laugh at that.

"It's just nice to be with only one or two people. I lost track of my brother not long ago, and without him there really wasn't anybody around I could talk with. But, seems I was lucky enough to stumble upon you. It's been really nice talking with you, and getting to know my brother's business partner as well."

"Well there really isn't all that much to know about me. I'm just a guy... only littler." This time she gave a livelier laugh.

"You're also funny," she said, giving as best a smile as her reptilian face could manage.

"I try." A moment later I was ready. "Alright, I believe I'm set."

"Goody!" That sounded particularly bubbly, reminding me of another girl I knew. Guess she had gotten pretty comfortable.

"This is one of my more favorite songs. It's pretty simple so I shouldn't mess up too badly." That song was more than just a favorite. It was the song that started my interest in guitars; the sole reason why I decided to even pick up an instrument. That and it was appropriate for the current surroundings.

I shifted my back straight and relaxed it some more against the rock, sitting up to be in a more comfortable playing position, as well as flexing my wrists and fingers. In seconds I was set to play in comfort. Some more seconds went by as I put my fingers in position to make the opening notes, and once those were in place I took a quick glance at Sylvia. Her head was turned in my direction, intent on hearing what I had to offer. Assured that I now had a listener, I started to play.
The song's progression was hard-wired into my memory; I had played it so many times that my fingers had become automatic in producing the notes. Though there were some initial cramps they went away quickly as I got into the rhythm of the melody. I played it slowly; slower than it was originally meant to be played. This gave it a very calming, soothing feel to it. In all honesty, it had the nuances of a campfire serenade.

"Huh. That's pretty good," Sylvia said a ways into the song, giving a relaxed yawn shortly thereafter.

"I've played this a couple of times. It really helps in relaxing me."

"Uh-huh. It surely does." She meant those words, I could tell. As I kept playing, I pulled back my head to look up at the sky, and that's when I noticed that above the few scattered clouds the sky had become mostly black, with a fringe of orange on the part closest to where the sun was. The first of the evening stars poked out from the murkiness of the twilit sky, adding a bit of surrealism as I continued to play. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, as I found myself lost in the song. The breaking waves, which now sounded so distant in comparison to the music, seemed to accentuate the overall vibe being created. This feeling was common to me. Music had always been a comfort in my life, as well as a lifestyle. To play it out with my own hands further engrossed me in the thing which had granted me joy and excitement for years. The very basis for much of my past successes... and I was at its center once more.

A Quiet Spot (Part 3)

With a final strum I finished up the song, and once again the area was silent. Nothing but breeze, leaf rustling, and surf stirred amid that peace. I turned to Sylvia and saw that her head was nuzzled more onto the rock and closer to me, and that her eyes were closed, her nostrils breathing softly and slowly. Music had soothed the not-at-all-savage beast. I smiled at that thought. Then looking around me I took in the scenery once more. It was just the two of us, against a cool rock, on a lonely stretch of sandy beach, surrounded by ocean and jungle, with only a sinking sun watching over us. I gazed at Sylvia again, and upon doing so I realized how incredibly relaxed I myself was feeling after playing that song. Taking Sylvia's cue, I nestled myself back against the rock and let my eyelids take me into quiet darkness.

And like that there we were: A Jawa and a Ssi-Ruu, on an island on Mon Calamari, napping like two chums against an infinite sunset.

The thing that made that island even more special... was that the beginning of my greatest happiness took place there.

The End (For Now, Anyway XP)

The waves slapped at the sides of the small boat like an angry lover. Struggling through the choppy seas, Pitro stabbed his oar roughly into the waters. His graying beard, and unkempt hair, soaked up a lot of the spray and clung to his face, partially obscuring his vision. It had been decades since he laid his eyes on the shores of the Island. Now, many years later after delivering his people from tyranny, he sought the Island's golden shores, certain in his mind that here he would find his wife. His strength failing, he let his mind retreat back to the memories, leaving his body to the work.

Navigating the treacherous seas of the archipelago Rizin's Breath, a transport ship cautiously made its way back to its home land. Having been discovered decades before, the new lands colonized outside the Mother's Land provided precious materials and new trade opportunities. They soon dispatched a fleet of carracks to colonize and collect the veritable bounty. Within this particular ship's brig, during this particular journey, lay the leader of the Movement, a rebellion intent on liberating those Colonies from the control of the Mother's Land after nearly a century of strict rule and laws that progressively repressed the people of the colonies. Cautiously it made its way back home, intent on delivering its very important cargo.

"Pitro, it is imperative that you take this opportunity. It has been handed to us by the gods, to ignore it is blasphemy. Be it over pride or whatever reasons you have for damning yourself. This is the opportunity we have waited for, the reason I was smuggled aboard this vessel. Do not let the Movement's efforts be in vein!"

Rising from the floor, the prisoner finally regarded the pleading guard. "The sacrifice that you are so happy to make, is not so easy for me agree to. I will not sacrifice my own brother. There will be others who will rise in my place." Pitro was garbed in rags and shackled, his beard beginning to grow in; its deep brown color darkening his complexion. The prisoners rags he wore hung from his weakened body, lean from starvation. His eyes however were as sharp and passionate as ever, despite the dark fatigue that ringed them.

"But none will lead the people as you would brother. When I agreed to join you, I forfeited my life to a greater cause. Now it is being asked for, and I gladly give it in service." Like his brother, Dahdeyh was closely bound to The Movement. The fight for freedom from the tyrants who oppressed them was the main priority of The Movement, and Pitro was their leader. Two pairs of deep ruby eyes regarded each other, a silent battle of wills. The air in the small chamber in the belly of the ship grew thick, the tension palpable.

The storm raging outside served as the best cover against his escape. Their proximity to Rizin's Breath, a string of islands leading back to the Colonies, ensured the journey back would not prove overly difficult. "It is true; Rizin has blessed us this day. I cannot deny the opportunity. I will let you serve brother."

Relieved, Dahdeyh quickly unshackled his brother and the two hastily swapped their clothing. They were almost identical in likeness. The betrayal would not be discovered unless one who knew Pitro's face was presented with the new prisoner. Fortunately, there was no such person on this vessel. "When we meet again, we shall both sleep in the arms of the Mother and bask in the Father's radiance." He gently kissed his brothers forehead and turned to leave.

"In the Light we shall meet again."

His brother's last words echoing in his head, Pitro hastily made his way towards the surface of the carrack, navigating corridors amidst the rolling of the ship. Finally, he found his way on deck and quickly found a tethered boat. Fighting against the wind and waves, he managed to free the boat and lowered himself into the waters. Rolling amongst the waves he watched in agony as the ship sailed by, towards the Mother's Land, his escape effectively ensuring his own brother's doom. Warm silent tears traced down his cheeks unhindered.

The jolt of beaching awoke Pitro with a start. His muscles stiff, he painfully picked himself up and looked for land. Nearly fifty paces away he found the shoreline of one of Rizin's Islands. Lifting the paddle from the bottom of the tiny boat, he pushed off and navigated around the dune and towards the shore. Upon arrival he was greeted by olive skinned locals in leathers. They slowly emerged out of the tree line towards the beach, their faces a combination of curiosity, horror, and rapture. Dragging his boat ashore, he called out to them and was surprised to be greeted in return.

The man who greeted him cautiously stepped from the group of villagers. His dress was regal, covered in feathers, shells and pearls. "You are not welcomed here stranger."

"I assure you I won't be a hindrance. I just need a small amount of supplies to make it to the next island." Baffled by the man's manner, Pitro drew himself up, attempting to attain his usual air of command. The effort proved too much, the fatigue on his body too great. He could only manage to hold himself up.

"I am Slausihn, Chief and Foremost of the Children and your presence does not bode well for me and my people. We are facing famine and can barely support ourselves. I'm sorry but we offer no solace for your troubles, but the jungle may. You are free to it; if you're able." With a small tilt of his head, Slausihn turned to his people and navigated them back into the trees.

The people slowly began to fade back into the trees leaving Pitro alone on the beach. Disheartened, he dropped to his knees as fatigue and sorrow fought for the remaining strength in his body. Unbidden, further tears traced down his face and fell towards the sand from the tip of his nose. His brother's face came to his mind and slowly his duty began to numb the ache in his chest and his stomach. There was so much to do; pity was not included within that list.

Wiping his eyes with his forearms, he stumbled towards the trees. Barely ten paces into the jungle he tripped on a root and fell to the ground. His body was just too tired from the struggles against the ocean and the malnutrition he faced as a prisoner.

"So you've come." A voice somewhere above him gently filled his head. It was a tender voice; it brought him back to himself. Despite his weakness, he managed to prop himself up from the ground and sit against the nearest tree. "I am from the village. I am their Jho'o, the spiritual councilor and holder of the Sacred Words. It has been prophesized that one day a Stranger will enter our land. I am certain that your presence indicates the beginning of these prophecies."

"Is this why your Chief is acting so inhospitable? I'm sorry but you must be mistaken. I am only here by circumstance; I need to return home to my own people. I cannot help you."

"The will of Rizin is not to be scrutinized by men. You assume too much to believe that the choice is yours...?"

"Pitro." He offered, realizing the girl was hinting for his name.

"Pitro, you have been chosen to be the catalyst of the Kae'aren cycle; a series of events that shall restore hope and faith to the people and cleanse this island of its evils. As the Jho'o I will guide you as I can and teach you what you will need to prepare you for this battle. Unbidden as it may be, this is as much a part of your destiny now, as is your quest to return home."

It was not in his plans to get caught on this island, any island for that matter. "I'm sorry but, I cannot. I have my own people to save and all I ask for is a small amount of supplies, two or three days' worth of food for one man, just to get to the next island."

The girl's cool eyes gazed deeply into his, her age washing away in a tide of wisdom and replaced by the eyes of a being he could not recognize. "Pitro, I have faith that you will make the right choice of the two I will offer you. You could poach our food and, whether it is now or months from now, steal the rations from my people causing a man to die in your place. Or second, you could choose to walk the path of the Cycle until it is fulfilled. Either way, you will be one your way with enough rations to reach your destination. The choice is yours."

Pitro let his head lull, breaking eye contact with the girl. Her gaze was too intense, her aura bled from her. Like the sun, Pitro could almost see its brightness and feel its passionate heat. The girl appeared as a normal child nearing adulthood. Her brown hair was silky; a mousey brown. Her cheeks were freckled from the sun and her dress draped over her shoulders and breast covering her thin frame. She also wore a thin bracelet around her wrist, appearing to be made of strings of palm, intricately woven. Despite her deceptive appearance, her demeanor proved that whatever significance a village's Jho'o held, it must have been vast. Despite his reticence to believe, he knew the girl was telling the truth.

"If it is your will for me to take part wise-one, then I shall. May the gods bless me and guide me down the right path." He gathered himself to once again meet the girl's gaze only to find empty jungle behind him. He knew however that the Cycle had begun, even without his acquiescence.

From the corner of his eye, he caught a gleam. Turning towards it he spotted a dagger embedded in the bark of a tree. The design of the hilt and the shape of the blade seemed to be one with the tree, as if the weapon was a part of the tree itself. Getting up, he slowly made his way to the tree. It took quite a bit of struggle to get the blade free considering his weakened state. He poked, prodded, scratched, and gnawed. When he finally had a good hold of the hilt, the weapon easily peeled away from the bark. Examining it, the weapon looked very stylized. The lines on the hilt, the composition, the texture, it was like a piece of the tree. The blade had a curve to its two edges, like an elongated leaf. Its core was a brilliant white that reflected the sunlight with thin filaments stretched towards the edge of the blade. Testing the dagger, he roughly passed the edge against the tree and was surprised to find a purple sap leak onto the edge. Dipping his finger into the liquid, he tasted it. Its intense flavor overcame his caution and he hungrily licked at the blade. Using the blade he cut pieces from the tree surrounding the sap and curiously gnawed at it. It easily gave under his teeth and, after a couple of mouthfuls, suffused his body with an energy and new life. To his pleasure, his fatigue completely faded away. A satisfied smile split his lips.

"Where are you coming from child?"

The small child turned on her heels and faced her interrogator. "The Father smile upon you Chieftain."

"I asked you a question Jho'o."

"Do not patronize me kakin. You know very well where I was and what I was doing."

"How dare you!? I am no boy, and you will show me respect. Be grateful that I haven't outright banished you with the Stranger you are so anxious to befriend. You know very well what this means kakan. I will be damned before I let a long dead prophet bring my people to their doom."

"It is not your place to make such a decision. The will of Rizin shall be done, as it always has been. I would have expected a man of your position to understand this basic principle."

"It is not your place Jho'o to decide what the will of Rizin entails. Keep away from that Stranger and perhaps you will once again earn the respect of Her Children."

"Fear turns the Children from their Mother. When we next meet Chieftain, it shall not be pleasant."

"Is that a threat kakan? I shall have you hung by your toes and flogged unstopping until the Father sleeps thrice." Slaughsin's eyes were wild with unrestrained fury. The Jho'o on the other hand, was as serene as the depths of the ocean. This frustrated Slausihn further.

"If I am but a child, why do my words excite you? You have been a selfish man. You reign over the people like a monarch, where a better man would lead as a shepherd. You mistake your role and for that you seal your doom. The Kae'aren shall rid the island of all its evil. The Cleansing cannot be stopped. When the Father next wakes and treks over the Sky, we shall see whose view of Rizin's will holds true."

"I have put up with you long enough. Your return to my village will be met with lethal force. You are right about this, when next we meet it indeed shall not be pleasant." Satisfied with himself, the Chieftain watched as the little girl, the little kakan, looked at him with hurt eyes. At least, he hoped it was hurt. It could have been disappointment. Either way, the kakan turned on her heels and escaped from his sight. He watched as she made her way through trees watching her tiny figure move. Had she not been the Jho'o she would have belong to him by now. It was a pity that such a morsel would go to waste. Shaking the thought free he made his way back to his home. He imagined he could already smell the roasting pork on the spit.

Pitro carefully made his way towards the village assisted by the Jho'o and burdened by a large feast. The girl had come to him in the night, deeply disturbed and refusing to speak. The night was cold and he offered her his warmth. Cautiously, she crawled in his arms. Unable to sleep, he stared into the flames as they licked into the skies deep in thought. The hypnotic movement of the fire eventually had him drifting off into sleep.

Morning came quickly, the Jho'o shook him awake. "It's begins Pitro."

"I'm hardly prepared. Only yesterday I knew nothing of this island, yet now you expect me to fulfill your prophecies?"

"All in time Guardian. As the Jho'o I can impart knowledge that will help you in your task. We shall spend the morning learning. Embrace Rizin's will and She will guide you true."

They spent the morning speaking of the scriptures and his role in it. He learned of all the signs he fulfilled unintentionally, such as Drawing the Blade of Justice from the tree and becoming one with the Island by imbibing the body and blood of the jungle. Soon the magic of the island became clear to him. He learned how to use the power of the blade and the rituals required of him to bring judgment and peace to the island.

"Rizin has provisioned for such a time where the Island struggles. The fallibility of man is such that caution was necessary. Only a Stranger can perform the Kae'aren. Now, let's return to the Village. We must free its people of Slausihn's indoctrination and return their faith. Only then will the Island once again produce the sustenance my people have lacked for so long."

Using what he learned, Pitro managed to trap a small family of boar. Each one weighed almost as much as himself forcing him to Draw strength from the jungle around him. The magic of the Island was now his to beckon, and within the coming hours, his tools in defeating the evil that plagued the island.

In short order they came upon a large clearing with huts of various sizes littered throughout. As he passed them he could hear the people inside as they curiously made their way to their shutters to see who approached. The brave met him as he walked along and created a large gathering behind him. Once he reached the common, he dropped the bundle of pigs he was carrying. He could sense the hunger in the villagers around him. They would soon see that this would be the smallest of his miracles to perform.

"Slausihn. In the name of Rizin I command you to come out."

Puffed in fury, Slausihn stepped from his two story fortress, its strong frame made of wood, a sharp contrast to the shoddily built huts that surrounded it. "You have been banished Stranger; do you dare defy the rules of my people and disrespect us in our own home?"

"Quiet you incompetent bloated bug." Fury escaped the Jho'o's lips like a spout of fire. "You dare claim the title of Chieftain when it is only through thievery that you stole the title from those more worthy. You husk of a man. Come, kneel before Rizin's Chosen and repent."

"You!" Looking for a distraction from himself, he focused on the young Jho'o. "You were also banished on penalty of death for heresy and promoting unrest amongst the Children. Guards, seize her." Three guards filed out of the hut, but none dare draw their weapon on the Jho'o.

"I come here bearing food and justice Chieftain. What have you brought to this village other than famine and despair? Since the death of the incumbent Chieftain, this village and this land have slowly been fading away and it is due to the evil you have blighted and doom this island to. Your choice to ignore the cycle has only brought the disdain of the Mother upon you, now, kneel and be judged."

"I shall not-" His words choked off, Slausihn was forced to his knees by the guards he summoned. His eyes wide in shock and horror, he began to shake as one of the guards pulled his head back, exposing the folds of his neck.

"No mercy shall be shown to you Slausihn. You have chosen your path, and now you must see it through." He unsheathed the Dagger and held it up for all to see. "With this blade, you shall be judged. This blade can only harm the wicked, and with it shall the wicked be judged." As he reached Slausihn he passed the knife along the man's throat and was not surprised to see the blood gurgling from the wound and down his chest. The crowd rejoiced, their freedom ensured by this one bloody act.

A thunderhead pealed through the sky and quickly quieted them. The guards surrounding the corpse of the chieftain jumped back in terror as a black cloud began to coalesce from the body's mouth. It formed into the image of a woman garbed in black and gently alighted upon the ground. Her dark hair flowed around her face, framing sharp features. Her lips were wicked and her nose came to a point. Her eyes were slightly squinted, as if silently posing a challenge to whoever dared set eyes on her. A dress clung to her tightly and loosened around her knees, its dark tendril wisps licking the ground around her feet. The dress revealed more curves on her body than decent despite it covering her from chin to wrist to feet. The effect intoxicated the men nearest her, some clutching at their chest in pain, yet wearing a smile on their face as they collapsed to the ground. Others stared at her, enraptured, their minds lost to the sight of her.

"Pitro." The Jho'o's trembling voice rescued Pitro from his trance. He looked into her eyes and felt comfort where before he felt fear. Resolve returned to him and he finally found his voice.

"Men, get a hold of yourselves and get your family indoors now." Slowly, the villagers began to mill about. As they realized their fear, their feet began to speed up until all were running towards safety. The village common was empty save for the bodies, the Jho'o, Pitro, and the apparition. "The Father is with me monster. Your minion is destroyed and your taint will no longer plague this land."

The woman's lips split open in a wicked smile, a piercing shriek of laughter emanating from her mouth. "You are mistaken, the plague is you. The taint is made by these weaklings who have let themselves be ruled by such a man as the one lying at your feet. No, I will not be denied my freedom. This island is mine!" From her feet, two tendrils snaked their way up and into her hands and solidified into black, formless, daggers. She ran towards Pitro, and he charged her in turn. Her lithe body was more flexible than his and could reach and maneuver faster than he could. He held her off as best as he could, blocking and deflecting with his dagger against her two. Warmth spread over his body as he felt Rizin take control of him. Fighting her off he managed to push her away enough to catch her off balance and began his assault. He sliced for her face and quickly changed direction to try towards her throat. Without lifting her own daggers she simply twisted with Pitro's blade, flowing with his attacks.

The air between them began to shimmer and suddenly Pitro found himself pulled off of his feet and flipping through the air as if tossed like a rock. He came crashing down at the edge of the jungle and shakily got up. The magic was unexpected. He cursed himself for the assumption and, turning towards the nearest tree, quickly and fluidly drew a dagger from its bark, evening the fight.

Something tickled his cheek causing him to flinch. A thud sounded behind him and he looked over his left shoulder to find one of the black daggers embedded in the bark, its blade nearly engulfed by the tree. Angry, he focused the energy around him into his feet and took to the air. A step ahead of him, the apparition met him in mid air, their daggers clashing, and both fell to the ground. Pushing strongly, the woman stumbled a couple steps back.

Shimmers began to sprout around Pitro and instinctively he cut through them with his dagger. The dark clad woman took the opportunity to come in on his blind side forcing him to tumble to the side away from her attacks. She did not relent and cut into his shoulder as he recovered from the tumble. Her extension opened her up giving Pitro the opportunity to stab her with his right arm, his left suddenly weakened. Instead of wounding her, the point where the dagger contacted seemed to exude the black smoke that seemed to comprise of her form. Allowing Rizin full control of his body, he used Her speed to rapidly attack at the woman nicking and stabbing at different spots faster than she could compensate for despite the injury to his shoulder. The woman seemed to weaken severely and fell to her needs, her daggers losing their form and blowing away with the wind. Taking advantage of this, Pitro drew back and plunged the dagger deep into the woman's chest burying the blade into her breast.

A flash of bright light exploded from the point of contact. A shriek peeled through the air and soon Pitro felt the resistance ebb away. Releasing the daggers, he watched as they withered away like dust and the black smoke that composed the apparition blew away in the wind. He walked back to the common and dropped to his knees. The Jho'o quickly ran to him and hugged him tightly. He barely had the strength to do so, but he hugged her in return. Her tiny voice whispered into his ear, "It is done Pitro... it is done." Weakness held at bay began to flood his body, his shoulder began to throb and his vision began to wobble. Distant, he felt the child release her embrace and slowly lay him on his back. The world slowly washed away into a sea of blackness.

A soft light broke through Pitro's lashes and finally caught his attention. Letting sleep drift away, he slowly opened his eyes.

"Welcome back to the world of the living my love." Melina's voice was sweet in his ears, her humor forcing a smile. He rolled over and found her sitting at his desk. She was dressed unlike he'd been used to seeing her.

Slowly he sat up and walked over to her. She was writing a note he realized. "What is this? What are you doing?"

"My time here is over. I must return to my duties. I've helped you as best I could in liberating your people, I gave you love and I kept you in good health. But this was never my destiny, only a pleasant distraction." Melina regarding Pitro through eye's he'd come to recognize as that of a Jho'o. It'd been so long since he'd thought of the Island embroiled in politics as he was and trying to organize the Independent Colonies.

Roughly he snatched the note from the desk and scanned through it. A hopeless fear began to gnaw at him, his chest tightened. "No..." was the only thing he could whisper to himself, as if denial would somehow convince the gods to end their cruelty. His mouth worked, soundlessly, as he looked confused from the note to his wife. The girl who was once so young and intimidating, now grown into a woman of compassion whom he loved deeply.

"Pitro, my love, our time together has ended. My duties as Jho'o can no longer be ignored. If not in this life, then in the next, we will meet again. Now, I must return to the Island, it is where I belong. With my people. Mourn my loss as I will yours but I urge you my love, do not seek me out. You will not find me. And for my sake, do not try. If you do love me, then on that love do not chase me. In doing so, you will only meet your death."

This concludes my piece. It has not title, it just is. Just read it. If you really must label it, then label it Pitro's Story. In the end, it came out to 4,470 words. Just barely under the limit and it was a pain in the ass to get it there. Hope you enjoy.

"HONEYMOON" PART I

It was a cool, breezy, April night. The wind whistled through palm trees surrounding a small coastal island estate off the shores of California. The sounds of a party could be heard from the silken sands of the beach. Salty waves beat against the cliff sides to a rhythm all its own, attempting to scale the rock as it had done for centuries. The sky was clear save for the full moon that gave its milky light to the partygoers down below. Blasting music and laughter lifted into the night air, with the clink of glasses to guests of honor. Through the crowd and up onto a small stage lit by outdoor lights stands a single man, slightly less capable of speech than he would normally be so, ready to speak.

"Thanks, my great...many friends. I am pleashed to have you all...here. On this most shelebrated of nights, to be here, with me...and...that lady I married", he said with a smirk on his face as the crowd laughed. He stood a full five foot ten on a thin frame; or rather he would have if he were not stumbling about the stage in an undead like motion. His grin revealed a pleasant smile beneath blue eyes on his slightly tanned face with a crop of short, black hair upon his scalp. He continued to thank his many friends for their endless support.

"You guys have always washed out for me, and I wanted to say...how mush I appreci...am happy...ah hell...", he stated as his legs gave out from under him, "bombs away!" With a thud and some gasps from the crowd he slammed to the stage floor. Laughter drifted upon the salty air as a beautiful red-haired woman approached the stage. Her eyes were a striking emerald green, set in a perfectly curved face, with a small curved nose and full lips that were now drawing up to a smirk of their own. As she made her way on to the stage, some of the guests cheered and she let loose a full blown smile upon the crowd, to which the cheers grew louder. She placed one delicate, thin hand upon her face in embarrassment, white dress flowing down and around her.

She made a show of shrugging to the crowd and picked up the downed mike, "Well, he did say in sickness and in health. I suppose a wife must do what a wife must" sang her smooth voice over the crowd. Still smiling, she bent over and brought up her husband with his arm over her shoulder. Two more men came up onto the stage and helped her drag him off. A band resumed playing, and the party was in full swing again. An hour or so passed as the newlywed wife thanked guests as they approached her and her now aroused husband.

"Ugh...Amber..." the man grunted in the woman's general direction. "How long have I been down?"

"Long enough, Corwin" Amber replied, smiling.

The man returned her smile in full force, and for a moment the intensity increased between them and they drew close to one another, the party fading into the background around them. They embraced and as they did so, their lips met, sharing in a kiss that was delicate yet full of passion. When they drew apart, they did so with reluctance.

"Care for a dance?" she whispered in Corwin's ear.

"Of course, my lovely lady" he returned in whisper.

Together they stood and made their way to the center of the dance floor. They glided and drifted back and forth, sharing in laughter and the odd misstep or two. As the night grew late, guests began to say their goodbyes, leaving their wishes with the happy newlyweds. They continued to dance together, gazing into each other's eyes as the night grew quieter and soon all but a few guests remained. There was one in particular, however, that the couple had not noticed before. He rose from his corner of the garden surrounding the dance floor and approached from a patch of darkness. As he drew nearer, it seemed as though the moon dimmed and the stars stole back their light. Corwin felt somewhat a chill run down his spine as the man's footsteps echoed on the dance floor. Slowly, Corwin and Amber ceased dancing and gazed up from their intimacy to meet eyes with this dark stranger.

His clothes, while pressed and presentable, seemed older, a more archaic tux than is typically expected at affairs such as their wedding reception. The jacket smelled of cigar smoke, deep and musky, and his skin was almost as black as midnight. He wore a top hat, which they both found very unusual but said nothing as he closed the distance between himself and the couple. He was a tall, thin man, taller than either of them. When he finally reached them after what seemed an eternity, his eyes met theirs from under the brim of his hat, dark coals gazing at them from a white bed of pearl. His high cheekbones pulled back his grin to reveal a set of slightly yellowed teeth and a slight wisp of cigar smoke escaped his smile, as though fire resided in his belly.

"Good evening, lovely people" he said in a deep baritone, "It was such an honor to be here and see such a fine young couple", his eyes darted back and forth between the two, "make the commitment of a lifetime. Such a rare thing to find these days, such a beautiful jewel to behold, this thing born from", he sneered slightly, "love."

The couple both felt as though his voice reverberated through their bodies, rattling their ribcages. They felt this man deserved some amount of respect and so Corwin, feeling braver of the two, spoke, "Thank you sir...and you are..?"

The man drew himself upright and let out laughter that seemed to vibrate the estate, "Of course! Please forgive my manners, how rude of me. It has been some time since I have traveled abroad. I am fairly well known in my own...country, so I am not accustomed to introducing myself. My name is Anansi Rabi. And I come bearing a special offer for just the two of you. You see, I am a diplomat of sorts from a small island country and we are seeking to spread the word that tourism has come to our little speck of the world. It is far to the southwest of this very coast, but by plane you could reach it in a matter of hours. I had taken the liberty during this party to ask around about what your honeymoon plans were to be...and discovered..." he looked back and forth between them once again, an eyebrow raised, "that you have none?"

What the dark man said was true, they didn't have the money for a real honeymoon after the expensive wedding and reception, but they had planned a trip into the mountains, just to get away from everything and everyone. "We did have some plans to get away for a while, and I can see where you are going with this," Corwin said, "but we really don't have any money to do any sort of tourist site. We just wanted some place private."

The man frowned, "I am sorry if I implied you had to pay anything at all, for that was not my intention. I am offering this trip to you," his grin returned, "free of charge! You simply have to go to the airport tomorrow with these two tickets at the gate."

Anansi's grin returned and he focused his gaze on Amber, "And you may stay for as long as you like. Here..." he presented the tickets, "...these will allow you to board our private plane. It leaves tomorrow at 10 am. I hope you decide to join us on our island, I believe you will find the experience...revealing."

He took a step back after Corwin and Amber had accepted their tickets. He bowed his head slightly then faced them again, "Good evening Mr. and Mrs. Bishop. If you get there and have any questions..." his hand flashed from his jacket pocket and he thrust something forward, towards Corwin's stomach. Corwin nearly reflexively struck the man until he saw it was a small black card with gold text. "...here is my card" Anansi said with a smile.

"Honeymoon" Part II

Corwin took the card and stared off after the man as he walked away. Corwin realized just then he had a nervous pit in his stomach. When Anansi had thrust forward his card, it felt as though a cloaked dagger had pierced him and left that cold sick feeling in him. Corwin shook it off. Amber looked at him concerned. "Are you ok love? You look sick. All those rum and cokes..." she said as her smile returned. He grinned as well. Anansi's steps had faded and they were alone again. Perhaps he was just being judgmental. He certainly was not in a position to be disagreeable about a free trip, and it is the very least his bride deserved. The man had certainly gone out of his way to offer the trip; the least they could do was consider it.

It did not take Amber much convincing. The moment she got wind that Corwin was at least semi-seriously considering it, she began to overflow with encouragement. Corwin was happy that she was happy, and that's all that mattered to him; it was all the convincing he needed.

***

They arrived an hour before the plane was to depart, and made their way to gate 13 of the small island airport. There were no others at the gate save for the young woman behind the counter. After getting their tickets arranged and checked, she informed them the plane was actually on the runway and taxiing into position. After a few moments, they boarded and departed the small island estate. The journey took about 5 hours in the Cessna aircraft and they were both still fairly tired. Listening to the sound of the propeller engine, they eventually drifted off to sleep together.

With a jolt and a thud they were awake. It was very dark outside as rain hit the windshield of the plane. The pilot was swearing and noticed that they had awakened. "Hold on to something, we are hitting some serious turbulence! This could get nasty!" and he faced forward again as lighting struck in the distance. As the plane rumbled and shuttered, they could see a large dark mass below them. They only had moments to speculate because soon after the shuttering grew worse and the moaning of twisted metal howled like a banshee.

Amidst the screaming wind and falling rain they plummeted to the violent grip of the sea. The last thing anyone saw was dark waters before a shattering windshield, the taste of salt and blood in their mouths as a black, cold abyss swallowed them whole.

***

Slowly Corwin tried to regain consciousness, as his eyes opened to find the world askew, with the horizon going vertical into the misty distance. He slowly sucked air back into his lungs and coughed as sea water left his body onto the sandy shore, as he lay upon his side. He sat upright and restored his horizon to its proper position. He surveyed the beach around him to find nothing near him except the unnatural mist.

"AMBER!" He cried out, and instantly regretted it, as his sides screamed in protest. Aside from a general soreness, he felt as though he could walk steadily, if slowly. He began to stumble down the beach. Oddly, as he did so, the mist seemed to form in front of him as he approached. Then he heard a soft sound, a voice, coming from the mist.

"Cory, Im hurt. Help me Cory. I need you. Save me Cory. SAVE ME!"

Then silence. Not even the waves lapping at the shore seemed to make noise. Corwin began to sweat, despite his shivering from the cold damp clothing. His breathing slowed as he just took in what he had heard. Cory, she had called him. Only Amber really called him that, in their most private moments. He had to save her. What if she was hurt? There was no one else here. He had to find her.

He ventured toward the jungle and found an entrance into the dense foliage. He saw plenty of branches strewn about the island floor. After a few moments he gathered a considerable number of branches and broke them into a foot in length each. Then he ripped off pieces of his shirt and tied them each of them to a branch, and slowly progressed into the jungle, dropping a branch every so often, about two feet apart. His shirt had been a bright red; it was easy to see on the green floor.

As he made his way into the jungle, he yelped as he felt sudden pain on his arms, causing him to drop his bundle of sticks. Looking down he saw several thin cuts on his forearm. Ruby drops formed and fell in a steady rhythm to the jungle floor. Damn, he thought, these branches and leaves are sharp. As he picked up his bundle, he noticed a small web glistening in the sunlight, his small red drop of blood forming at its center, near the base of the tree. Vines like veins wrapped down around the ancient trunk and into the ground. Did his eyes trick him or was his brain addled? Did the vines just pulse? He heard a strange sound and glanced back down at the web. It was clean of any red coloring. Shuttering and shaking his head, he continued onward, into the mist, leaving a small trail in his wake.

***
Amber slowly opened her eyes to see the beach before her, with rubble strewn all about. She couldn't remember. How did she get here? Where is here? And where was Cory? She sat up as best she could and felt pain ring through her body. Despite her own reservations about the prospect, she decided to stand up. She found it easier than she expected and afterward looked to the wreckage. There was a body not five feet from her...

"Oh God, Cory..."

She walked over to the body and realized with some relief that it was the pilot, his arm detached at the left elbow, and his body was bloated from the sea. Poor man, she thought, he died while we lived. Strange, how fate works in the favor of some and not others.

She heard a noise in the direction of the jungle, and suddenly realized she was truly alone, that Cory was not on the beach, and she was surrounded by fog. She felt vulnerable. Quickly back stepping, she reached below and felt something solid, with some weight to it. Metallic. It was about 5 feet in length, a snapped portion of the plane's supporting truss from under the wing. And it had a lethal end. She held it as one would a spear and with new found courage, pressed on into the jungle.

She wasn't two steps in when she noticed a twig upon the ground with something tied to it. Upon further examination she realized it had a piece of Corwin's shirt tied around it. After a few more feet, she found another. Encouraged, she pressed on into the foliage, ignoring the scrapes and cuts the plants delivered to her. After about fifteen minutes, she was completely surrounded by fog and jungle, only the branches guiding her towards her husband. One after another, they directed her through the silence of the mist. Then she came to what looked to be the last branch, because there were no others after it. Frustrated, she knelt down near the branch, perspiration dripping from her brow. Then she gasped with a quick intake of breath.

Her muscles tightened and she was standing again. Her eyes were fixed on the ground, not on the branch, but on the glistening drops of blood next to it. Slowly, she crept through the jungle following this ominous trail, and as she did so, the drops turned into small pools of blood, reflecting back her own crimson visage. She couldn't breathe anymore and each step was leaden with fear. But she continued onward, seeing the gore was now not only on the ground but the branches and leaves of the surrounding jungle. She wanted to scream but she couldn't. Her knuckles were white as she griped the spear as though it anchored her to this world.

"Honeymoon" Part III

Then finally her gaze lifted as the mist seemed to draw away from the place directly in front of her. She stopped. The soil before her was black, almost volcanic, if she was to be any kind of judge. The blood trail went into this cave mouth that now stood eight feet in height before her. It seemed to slowly decline into the island itself. Trees grew at the top of the cave mouth and the vines seemed to go into the cave from all directions. It was an eerie sight. Every fiber of her being told her the place was not natural. If she had to use a single word to describe it, evil would be the only proper word. Tight jawed until now, she relaxed her mouth to call out to the cave, "Corey? Are you in there?"

No Response. She approached the entrance and the air seemed to be going into the cave rather than out of it, like the intake of breath to the great maw before her. Darkness obstructed her way. She backed out slowly and went back to the branches and gathered a few. She tore some of her own shirtsleeve off and wrapped it around the bundle of twigs. If only she had a light. As she searched around for something to start a spark, she froze as her eyes fixed on a small object. It was still smoldering, as though it had been recently discarded. She began to quake, but remained upright. A cigar. She approached it slowly and used its embers to get a small fire going on her makeshift torch. Then she turned back to the cave, and, setting her will for whatever was within, entered.

As the light at her back dimmed and she was enveloped by the darkness, she realized she could only see a few feet in front of her, and since she was following the blood trail, she had to keep it closer to the ground. Spear still in hand, she progressed through the cave, her steps echoing ahead of her. She came out of the narrow cave passage into what she felt was a large cavern, since her light could no longer reach the walls. And just ahead of her torchlight, she could make out a figure. Wearing a top hat. Despite the darkness, she could see the white pearl of the stranger's eyes and his dark pupils. And somehow, his grinning yellow teeth.

Frozen she stood there for a few moments, trying to get her eyes to confirm or deny what she was seeing. Her fear began welling up in her as the lifeless eyes continued to hold her gaze. She tightened her grip on the spear and held it up as she spoke

"Who are you? What do you want?"

The grinning stranger spoke, "You know who I am. We have already met."

"What are we doing here? Why are you here?" she stammered.

"I am here because you are here and it needed me to bring you here. Without me it could not have met you. And without it, I could not be. And without me, my children would starve. We would have no home without it."

At this, Amber heard a skittering on the floor. The figure remained motionless. The sound grew louder and she held out her torch just a little further and her jaw dropped at the sight, a soundless scream escaping her mouth. The floor around her moved with a slow determination, moving her from the entrance and deeper into the cavern. Hundreds of tiny sets of eyes gazed up at her, an army of black and waxy spiders pushing her ever backward, slowly drawing nearer. She felt the floor grow sticky as she retreated, and almost stumbled to the ground. Spear in one hand and torch in the other, she began to sob, echoing into the cave.

"Where is he!? Where is Cory? What have you done with him you bastard!?"

The spiders ceased their advance and held off about five feet from her in all directions she could see. Her back finally met the wall but the resistance was not solid. It was soft, giving, and slightly warm. Wet and sticky. Fleshy.

She slowly turned, her lower lip trembling, eyes blurred with tears, she met the gaze of her husband, his eyes fluttering as blood poured from several wounds on his body at the arms, legs and center of his torso. He was spread eagle against the cavern wall, and she forgot for a moment there was an army of Anansi's children behind her. Her heart sank at seeing his ravaged body. And to her horror, she realized he was still barely alive. His chest heaved up and down in a slow pattern.

Anger rose in her chest against the desperation, and as she turned back around to face the terror from the darkness, she dropped her torch down in front of her. Grimacing she held her spear tip out.
Her eyes said what her voice could not. She would not be moved. Laughter echoed the cavern and bled off into silence, as all the spiders continued to stare, venom dripping from their mandibles like the saliva of a hungry beast.

"My dear Amber, do you not realize? We are, my children and I, but servants to it. And it has already tasted his flesh. You are for us. For my children and I. And make no mistake. We will.."

Anansi stepped forward into the light, his grin broader than humanly possible; his eyes alight with the flame from the torch, casting a shadow over his ghastly face. He leaned over his thin frame and picked up the torch.

"...Devour you."

At this Amber braced herself and backed away. But rather than advance on her he held the torch high above his head. For a moment Amber just gazed back, confused by his action. Slowly Anansi gazed upward. Amber followed his gaze up and felt her heart drop to the cavern floor, an atom bomb to her sanity. The light from the torch grazed over the hundred corpses on the ceiling, entangled in the roots of the trees. The corpses had roots twining in and out of the dried husks that were once human, jaws set in silent screams, limbs torn apart. Their skin was black and she could see hundreds of silky webs flowing in and out of the human carcasses and tree roots.

"You are not the first. Nor will you be the last."

Amber shuttered and came back to the moment. She fixed her spear in his direction.

"Stay back! I swear to God I will..." but she never finished her sentence.

Anansi quickly rushed up to her, arms out stretched and roaring at her. Amber screamed as the spear entered his chest, making the sound of crushed fruit as it pierced his stomach. Anansi slumped over towards her and gasped. His gasping slowly faded up into laughter as he threw his whole upper body backwards, howling at the dark. The spiders remained unmoving, eyes glistening.
As he stood upright, spear protruding from his midsection, his face hovered only a few feet from hers. He spoke in a hushed tone.

"I was one of the first. Blood has not flowed through my veins for decades."

He quickly thrust her back against her husband's body with his hand as the spiders finally advanced, crawling up Anansi's body and enveloping him as they crawled over Amber, tiny legs tickling her skin, waxy bodies brushing up against her body everywhere. She felt something sticky begin to cover her arms and legs. A few moments and the webbing had soon immobilized her, even before the biting began. She lost all sensation.

"Consider the poison my gift to you. You won't feel a thing."

Before she could ponder what he meant, she felt something wriggling into her arms, legs and the center of her back. From her husband. She slowly turned her head and through the spiders she could see the tips of roots coming out of her skin, blood trying to escape but being absorbed by the gluttonous branches. Anansi laughed into the growing dark as the light from the torch went out beneath the echo of Amber's tormented screams.

THE END
I hope you enjoyed my story, good luck to all the other contestants!

"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.

"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.

Roman Betrayal, Word Count 1,118:

Across from me sits my best friend, a fellow resistance fighter. I've know him for almost all of my life, and there is no doubt in my mind that I love him like a brother. Together, we've fought with so many people, murdered so many soldiers, planned so many escapes. All of this makes it harder to believe that one of us has to die so that the other may live.
Appius and I sit here on an island the size of a bed, the Mediterranean sea surrounding us in every direction, sand underneath us. On the horizon is a ship owned by the very common enemy we fought against, a Roman trireme. Its crew watches us from a distance, wondering who will betray the other first, who will die.
The Roman government has instituted waves of punishment for dissenters. Execution, torture, monetary, most everything. But in response to growing revolts in the Empire, they have devised yet another. You see, the death penalty isn't good enough for the Romans, no. People can become martyrs, and those who live to see their brother die will become vengeful. But having the leaders of revolts kill one another...well, that suits the government.
Appius and I were captured by the Roman prefect and our sentence was crystal clear. We would be left on an island and would be watched from afar by their ships. We would both drown or starve eventually in the sun drenched sea. Yet, our lives can be spared on one condition: we kill our fellow captive.
Without time to think, we were blindfolded and forced onto a ship. What seemed to be hours went by as we were brought to Jupiter knows where in the Mediterranean. Then we were dumped on the island like cargo, unchained, and left to wallow in our despair. All to keep us company was each other and two Gladius swords. And here we sit.
Punching my fist into the sand, I look at Appius. In his hand is a Gladius, which he is closely inspecting. If I didn't know him so well, I'd be nervous that he intended to attack, but no. No, when he thinks about things deeply, he tends to study everything around him. He tends to, at least.
Nervously, I reach for the sword in front of me. I dart a look at Appius, fearing he'd take the gesture as aggressive. Instead, he nods to me to take it, and I do.
Holding it upwards, I slowly scrutinize every detail in the sword. Its sharpness, color, scratches, and I wonder if it's ever cut through human flesh before.
"Remember when we used swords like these on the front lines, Kaeso," Appius asks me.
"Yeah," I said, swinging it through imaginary Romans. "That was before we became commanders instead of the grunts on the ground."
Appius pushes his sword into the sand. "Those were the days," he says standing. "Bloodshed in the morning, bloodshed in the afternoon, and women and wine at night. That was when we were young and invincible."
"When we were young, we were invincible," I said laughing softly. "We should have never have grown older."
Looking at me, Appius laughed and sat back down, pulling the Gladius from the earth.
Slowly our laughter died, and we began to look at each other. After a little while, Appius stopped looking at his sword, and instead began to inspecting me. I swallowed hard and wiped my brow.
"It's so damn hot," I said, looking up at the sun.
"They do that intentionally. The Romans know that heat makes people desperate," Appius said knowingly. "Being hot makes people act irrationally. Add to that being in the middle of an island in a sea of salt water, and anyone will eventually betray another for a drink of water."
In my head, I quickly wondered what he meant by betray. Was he referring to us, or was he just talking about others in this situation? And now that he mentions it, I am very thirsty. But I can't have a drink because I'm stuck here, stuck here with him.
"A drink of water," I said softly to myself.
"What was that," Appius asked.
"Nothing, I was just," I paused. "Just thinking about things I wish I could have."
He nodded, gripping the handle of his Gladius tightly and began to thrust it in front of him over and over, as if he were shoving it into the chest of countless Roman legionnaires. With every movement of his sword, my heart jumped, fear gripping my body. Why is he doing that? Practice? Fun? Or is he planning how to kill me? God, if only I could have a drink of water!
"Stop doing that," I finally yelled, jumping to my feet. "If you're going to betray me, get it done with so one of us can leave."
Startled, Appius withdrew the Gladius. "I will not betray you, and I would never betray any of my friends. I am ready to die here with you if that is the price of honor. The Romans cannot break me."
"They can't break you? Does that mean that they can make me fold?"
"No, you fool, I'm saying that I am prepared to meet Jupiter, honor intact."
"Fool? Do not call me that. I am Kaeso Primus Lepidus, commander of the greatest resistance movement against the Roman government in two hundred years."
"Calm down, Kaeso. Sit down and relax, it's hot."
"Shut up," I said, holding my sword out. "Do not tell me what to do."
My body shook in anger and frustration as I stood in front of Appius. I sighed and turned away from him.
I looked out at the ship on the horizon. "He will betray me regardless of what he says, I am sure of it," I thought to myself. "He wants to live, he wants to fight again, he wants my cool drink of water. If he thinks he can betray me, he is dead wrong. I must strike before it is too late."
"One day I hope to meet Jupiter too," I said, taking a step towards him. "But I hope you meet him long before I do." Quickly, I lunged towards him, swinging my blade towards his head. Appius swiftly hit my sword away and stood.
"I told you that I would never betray my friends," he said, pushing his Gladius into my side.
I slumped to the ground as blood rushed from my mouth and ribs. My sight grew dim and the sea began to fade. Above me stood Appius, my friend and killer.
"May Jupiter have mercy on your soul," he said, and the world went dark.

I've decided to let go of making a serious entry, and just be chill with this. So, here is my entry, and it is the only one I've written at such a chill composure, just for you guys.

Title: One Shot.
Word Count: 1903 words.

One shot is all it takes they say. One shot to do it all, to finish it, one shot is all you need.

That's what they say.

My name's Samuel E. Rosenberg, I'm an architect, recently after a long line of working nonstop for a job I dislike and for a woman I don't love; I've decided to take a breather from all this chaos. So, I board a jet heading to anywhere and see where I'm taken. I read a short inflight magazine to help kill the time of the flight, and all I get is inane babble about a cult looking for their new leader. Absolute friddle this is. Just like the rest of the plane's services, ugly stewardesses, bad food and a pilot who can barely speak English. Fantastic.

The flight is brief, with the noise radiating from the planes turbines preventing me from having a proper sleep; My sleeplessness and hunger is interrupted by a crash.

The crash, as it goes by, makes little impact on my psyche. Seeing the exterior of the plane burn up from the window and hearing the desperate pleas of all the passengers was more bothersome than anything.

All this ends when the nose of the plane makes a soft impact on the surface of the water. A ripple is formed, expanding in size as the plane goes deeper and deeper, until finally it comes to a halt, with the planes cockpit area parting a rather large part of a shoreline of an island.

I disengage my seat belt and look at the mangled corpses of all my fellow passengers. Their faces all tell a story of their own, each having an individual expression of agony formed on the canvas of their face. I see blood smeared everywhere, with spatter formed everywhere in an erratic fashion. The air is tainted with the aroma of decomposition.

I scan the interior of the plane for other survivors, I find a child, whom I could not tell the gender of. I find a sleazy woman wearing skimpy clothing and an attitude to boot, and I find a large, bald man with a beard and a seemingly prosthetic arm.

I gather my companions and divert them to the exit of the plane, each of them have their own snide comments for me, the phase through me as I light a cigarette and inhale the smoke, exhaling it afterwards in a swift motion.

I step onto the face of the beach and make my own stains on its otherwise pristine face, the shape of my shoe is imprinted on it like spatter from a brush, and the other footprints I find are from other brushes.

I follow the footprints and find that the others have settled down on a particular spot down by the shore. I see that construction of a rudimentary hut and a fireplace is underway, and while the men are working I can see that my lady friend is busy catching some rays on a primitive beach chair, wearing nothing but her lingerie. I can see the crude shape of her breasts from here, along with the Coke bottle silhouette she has, "what a sexy woman" I think out loud, my words not reaching anyone but me and the scuttling crab burrowing a hole in front of me.

I take several steps towards the trio, and as I do so, two clouds part in front of me, summoning a small ray of light to highlight my arrival like a savior of sorts. Everyone's attention is directed to me.

I ignore their empty stares and keep on walking, my destination being the cargo hold of the plane, as it presumably detached during the crash. After a few strides I reach the cargo hold; I see that its edges are burnt up and several parts of it are dented and distorted.

I force open the door, and begin to rummage through the belongings of the deceased. I find a working Jericho 941 and several boxes of ammunition, I find a high-end laptop with all it's accessories and parts intact, and I find a hefty amount of food, ranging from a simple candy bar to several uncooked prime steaks.

Perfect, I say to myself, my voice echoing throughout the hold like how a fire spreads. I exit the hold, and carry my supplies over to the crew.

Predictably, they show no interest. They carry on their menial routine as I work, scouring as far as I can for supplies, while they construct that hut of theirs. What a poorly designed hut, It'd go down in a minute during a tropical storm. They should've asked for my help; the bastards.

A plane then disrespectfully flies above us, at an altitude where our small encampment can be seen even. I make a gun out of my hand and fire my imaginary bullets of resentment at them.

Night falls, and I've collected more than enough to keep us going for about half a year. The amount of food the other passengers were carrying is staggering, and the variety is endless. There's a box of Instant Ramen noodles, there's a crate of clothes and assorted canned goods and there's even live chickens. What isn't brought abroad, I wonder.

As I lay on a straw sheet shielding me from the jagged rocks and venomous insects on the surface my fellow survivors picked, I spot a dark, tall figure silently moving at the edge of our settlement. The way it moves is so... unnatural. The figure has an arched back and seems to have a flowing cape, which dances with the wind as it moves in a zigzagged pattern, it investigates our settlement by further arching its back until it looks like the letter C.

Sweat drips from my forehead as I see this. I make an attempt to alert my comrades but a dark, blackish gas is released in the hut, subduing me and sending me into a deep sleep.

As the darkness fades and the light is brought in, a great pain jolts me from my slumber and on my feet. I examine the interiors of where I am apparently held captive. Everything is of a clean, blank white color. From the chairs, the floor, the walls, our garments, and.. us. Strangely, our skin pigment has been altered to make us incredibly pale. I look into a mirror to my left, and my reflection scares me.

I see myself, but instead of a healthy pinkish white hue and flowing golden locks, I see myself, but my skin is unhealthily white, along with my hair, and I seem to have no irises or pupils, as all of my eyes are white. I open my mouth and see that my teeth no longer have a slight yellow tinge, and my tongue is no longer a few tones lighter than crimson, and the rest of the insides of my mouth are white. I also see that I am covered with a white garment, similar to that of a "Long John" stocking, except the fabric used is extremely comfortable and sensitive areas are padded.

I walk around, and see that my comrades are gone, and that I am solitary in this seemingly endless white room. I sit down, and think, noticing that most of my other bodily functions are missing. Such as a secretion of an odor or sweat, and the inability the burp, fart of even laugh. I notice my face is stiff and cannot express any emotion anymore. Too much things are running through my head; but the only thing I am certain about is that escape is necessary.

A sprint. A cycling motion done with my legs. Computer like precision and movement; so it seems that my bodily functions have been augmented, and my less than pertinent functions have been erased. I feel a little grateful to whoever has done this, but now is not the time to salute and patronize, now is the time to act.

I find an opening in the walls and take advantage of it, I keep moving down the hall and find a doorway. I apply minimal force and it swings open, the light seamlessly transitioning from the exclusively white room I was in.

Faster. Faster.

I reach where my settlement used to be, and find that it is still there; untouched. Even more to my surprise is that I see my fellow survivors still sleeping in it, not a care in the world as usual.

I see my Jericho 941 lying on the ground, with the boxes of ammunition I found along with it still there as well. The sun reflecting on it, and how it is positioned with the bullets creates an image I will never forget. This is the day I could finally live, I guess.

"Finally, a use for Baby Eagle." I tell myself, my words reaching no one but myself.

Walking around the island, hearing the somber tweets of the birds flying around and seeing mystifying billowing smoke emerging from not too far away are what I notice first.

I ready my gun, and prime it for use. I stick in some bullets in the magazine and hold it directly in front of me, pointing to whatever hazard lurks beyond me. My arms in a 90 degree angle, perfectly straight and perfectly steady. Perfect to kill with.

A dozen rows of the shadowy figure appear. Each of them pulling down their hoods and revealing a mangled face, with either missing teeth, missing eyes or a missing nose. Each one was broken in its own special way, with an ever threatening expression slapped on it, all with the same message of death.

"Showtime."

I fire a series of shots at the oncoming onslaught, one bullet for every creature in the row. Reloading once for every row taken down. The sound of the bullet ejecting and the gunpowder activating happen a few milliseconds before the sound of the bullet hitting the flesh and bone of the foul beasts was ultimately satisfying for a curious soul like mine.

I run out of ammunition and hold my last stand.

I release a flurry of punches and kicks. I use the arched back of one of the beasts as a jumping pad and let loose a flying kick towards a trio of them. I knock two heads together and do all sorts of other brutal deeds to them, my humanity is put into a corner after every creature I kill.

I take them all out one by one, and walk on over to the collection of corpses. I step on them, my feet applying the correct force to usher either a splash of blood or a crack of bone.

Anger and confusion run amok in my head, controlling my actions. I march on forward, unopposed, finding nothing but a book. A book instructing me to what must be done and when.

"Chapter one. Finding the King.

Aghast! Vin trommen ent Fermiccht

Dhast dule En Von Wriemmer

Furt Van Bron Klisner

The King runs among us

The King creates immeasurably large art

The King is here

The King will arrive at June 18th in the year 2031

Once the King is captured, one must chop his mortal soul

And prepare him for use

One must dye the entire King a ghastly shade of white

And remove all human bodily functions

And replace with robotic

Once is done

Get King and use heavenly vessels of death

King will be power source

Will create new society

Religion will be severely implemented

Freedom will not exist"

One shot is all it takes they say. One shot to do it all, to finish it, one shot is all you need.

Then, bang.

"The E"
Word Count-1050

It would have been my pleasure at this moment in time to explain to you how the Freedom of Finger Puppets act in 1788 played a major part in the French revolution (1789-1799). But unfortunately since my last hearing in 2008, the judge has warned me not to bore people to death again. Rather than a history of finger puppets and revolutions (which is quite good by the way) I present a story of a man who is delirious and is in desperate need of a home... Oh wait, that's my life story.

Jack Ovary was a quiet man. Jack was quiet mainly because if he spoke the police would hold it against him. Jack's hobbies included scrabble, cricket and the theft of rare ideas. It was this last hobby that had brought Jack to a secluded island in the middle of the Indigestion Ocean. Unfortunately since the discovery of telesquidgion, life had become increasingly hard for idea thieves as no one thought nowadays. Fazaang! Jack's idea radar began to vibrate in his pocket. It had picked up a large reading of a big idea in two days time at latitude 56, longitude 40 and nuditude 95.

As Jack sat on the smooth sandy expanse of Capillary Beach on Stomach Island contemplating the existence of man, as he so often did, he came to his usual conclusion that mans sole purpose in the universe was to have invented cheese which a higher life form in the universe was quite fond of. Fazaang! It had been three days since Jack had landed his portable aircraft Lizzie on the beach and he had since that time acquired a tan and numerous tattoos of the names of girls he did not remember meeting.

As day turned to night and Jack turned from sober to drunk, the Club Enzyme was opening its doors, though no one dared enter till three in the morning due to the law of being hanged if not turning up fashionably late. The Club Enzyme was quite famous because of its owner, The E. Oswald E was big, blue and furry, although a lot of people were scared of him because of his six eyes, four arms, two mouths, three stomachs, twelve testicles and nine-hundred and fifty-two legs all of which he had won in dance competitions.

Jack walked into the club and surveyed the area. He knew that the idea had taken place on this island and thought it couldn't happen in a better place than here. He spotted a drunken man babbling nonsense to the barman and started to walk over to him to scour his brain for any hint of the idea. "Hello there, my name is Jack, nice to meet you." Jack said this in the politest tone he could manage without vomiting due to the eruption of smells coming from the mans mouth. "Huuusbah rumuna" said the man before vomiting all over Jacks suede's and passing out. Jack realised he wouldn't get any ideas from this man and walked over to a woman sprawled on a sofa complaining about life...

Bad luck. This was something that Jack Ovary had a lot of at this moment in time. It was very unfortunate that the girl that Jack was coming on to happened to be one of The E's fifty wives. It was also unfortunate that a large sea monster didn't happen to make it to the toilet on time and ended up covering everyone in piss. It was also very unfortunate that The E happened to challenge him to a dance competition and everyone knows that if you lose a dance competition with The E you lose your legs as well. But the most unfortunate thing of all would have to be the fact that they were doing the waltz.
Nuts, shit, damn, no, yes, huzzah, no, please, for God's sake! These are some of the thoughts that passed through Jacks mind as he tried to do The Friendly, a strangely intimate dance that usually happens to end up with the dancers feeling like they have been sexually abused. Though from the viewer's point of view it looks quite dazzling and has won many a galactic dancing competition between humans and fralians with its twirls, frills and the amazing double back flip super twirl with the splits. Jack dismounted from the E's horn feeling that he might actually have a chance of winning this competition and keeping his legs.

Jack left the hospital with his new pair of legs. According to the doctor he was lucky to have survived the traumatic stress of witnessing the greatest move in the world and that losing two limbs was no big deal. It was of course later on that Jack suddenly realised he had forgotten those lottery numbers from 2010 that were tattooed on his big toe and now he had gone through all that fuss with the purple frog witch for nothing. Sitting on the beach Jack stretched his new legs and thought of going home and relaxing with a game of scrabble and a glass of sherry in his cosy cottage when... Fazaang! Jack scowled at the idea radar, which had been malfunctioning ever since he spilt coffee on it two months earlier. Fazaang! Jack prepared to launch the annoying rectangle into the sea when suddenly a thought struck him. The thought was so amazing and yet shocking it caused Jack to burst into a fit of tears. The idea explained the point of human existence and yet somehow managed to sum up why Swiss chocolate tastes so nice and the purpose of trigonometry all at the same time.

Stanley Effigy walked into the club Enzyme and surveyed the area. He knew that the idea had taken place on this island and thought it couldn't happen in a better place than here. He spotted a drunken man babbling nonsense to the barman and started to walk over to him to scour his brain for any hint of the idea. "Hello there, my name is Stanley, nice to meet you." Stanley said this in the politest tone he could manage without vomiting, due to the eruption of smells coming from the man's mouth.
"Huuusbah rumuna" said Jack, before vomiting all over Stanley's suede's and passing out.

"The E"
Word Count-1050

It would have been my pleasure at this moment in time to explain to you how the Freedom of Finger Puppets act in 1788 played a major part in the French revolution (1789-1799). But unfortunately since my last hearing in 2008, the judge has warned me not to bore people to death again. Rather than a history of finger puppets and revolutions (which is quite good by the way) I present a story of a man who is delirious and is in desperate need of a home... Oh wait, that's my life story.

Jack Ovary was a quiet man. Jack was quiet mainly because if he spoke the police would hold it against him. Jack's hobbies included scrabble, cricket and the theft of rare ideas. It was this last hobby that had taken Jack to a many wonderful places, even into the stomach of the great Vahli the giant toad. Unfortunately since the discovery of telesquidgion, life had become increasingly hard for idea thieves as no one thought nowadays. Fazaang! Jack's idea radar began to vibrate in his pocket. It had picked up a large reading of a big idea in two days time at latitude 56, longitude 40 and nuditude 95. Stomach Island.

As Jack sat on the smooth sandy expanse of Capillary Beach on Stomach Island contemplating the existence of man, as he so often did, he came to his usual conclusion that mans sole purpose in the universe was to have invented cheese which a higher life form in the universe was quite fond of. Fazaang! It had been three days since Jack had landed his portable aircraft Lizzie on the beach and he had since that time acquired a tan and numerous tattoos of the names of girls he did not remember meeting.

As day turned to night and Jack turned from sober to drunk, the Club Enzyme was opening its doors, though no one dared enter till three in the morning due to the law of being hanged if not turning up fashionably late. The Club Enzyme was quite famous because of its owner, The E. Oswald E was big, blue and furry, although a lot of people were scared of him because of his six eyes, four arms, two mouths, three stomachs, twelve testicles and nine-hundred and fifty-two legs all of which he had won in dance competitions.

Jack walked into the club and surveyed the area. He knew that the idea had taken place on this island and thought it couldn't happen in a better place than here. He spotted a drunken man babbling nonsense to the barman and started to walk over to him to scour his brain for any hint of the idea. "Hello there, my name is Jack, nice to meet you." Jack said this in the politest tone he could manage without vomiting due to the eruption of smells coming from the mans mouth. "Huuusbah rumuna" said the man before vomiting all over Jacks suede's and passing out. Jack realised he wouldn't get any ideas from this man and walked over to a woman sprawled on a sofa complaining about life...

Bad luck. This was something that Jack Ovary had a lot of at this moment in time. It was very unfortunate that the girl that Jack was coming on to happened to be one of The E's fifty wives. It was also unfortunate that a large sea monster didn't happen to make it to the toilet on time and ended up covering everyone in piss. It was also very unfortunate that The E happened to challenge him to a dance competition and everyone knows that if you lose a dance competition with The E you lose your legs as well. But the most unfortunate thing of all would have to be the fact that they were doing the waltz.
Nuts, shit, damn, no, yes, huzzah, no, please, for God's sake! These are some of the thoughts that passed through Jacks mind as he tried to do The Friendly, a strangely intimate dance that usually happens to end up with the dancers feeling like they have been sexually abused. Though from the viewer's point of view it looks quite dazzling and has won many a galactic dancing competition between humans and fralians with its twirls, frills and the amazing double back flip super twirl with the splits. Jack dismounted from the E's horn feeling that he might actually have a chance of winning this competition and keeping his legs.

Jack left the hospital with his new pair of legs. According to the doctor he was lucky to have survived the traumatic stress of witnessing the greatest move in the world and that losing two limbs was no big deal. It was of course later on that Jack suddenly realised he had forgotten those lottery numbers from 2010 that were tattooed on his big toe and now he had gone through all that fuss with the purple frog witch for nothing. Sitting on the beach Jack stretched his new legs and thought of going home and relaxing with a game of scrabble and a glass of sherry in his cosy cottage when... Fazaang! Jack scowled at the idea radar, which had been malfunctioning ever since he spilt coffee on it two months earlier. Fazaang! Jack prepared to launch the annoying rectangle into the sea when suddenly a thought struck him. The thought was so amazing and yet shocking it caused Jack to burst into a fit of tears. The idea explained the point of human existence and yet somehow managed to sum up why Swiss chocolate tastes so nice and the purpose of trigonometry all at the same time.

Stanley Effigy walked into the club Enzyme and surveyed the area. He knew that the idea had taken place on this island and thought it couldn't happen in a better place than here. He spotted a drunken man babbling nonsense to the barman and started to walk over to him to scour his brain for any hint of the idea. "Hello there, my name is Stanley, nice to meet you." Stanley said this in the politest tone he could manage without vomiting, due to the eruption of smells coming from the man's mouth.
"Huuusbah rumuna" said Jack, before vomiting all over Stanley's suede's and passing out.

This post does not exist only read the first this one is not there as I somehow stupidly posted two of the same story by accident.

Title: When People think of Islands...

Word Count: 1,416

Part 1 of 2

When people think of islands, they think forests, beaches, discovery, mystery, and danger. When I think of an island, there's nothing. A blank space, as if it was inserted there. Now, of course, that may seem odd, but for the purpose of the story it's quite convenient, meaning if there is no island in my mind to write about, I don't have to write about an island. So, my story takes place in outer space, on the planet of Darpoon.

Ok, I was joking. There is an island in my story, and it IS different from most islands. Sure, it has trees, wild life, coasts and an air of mystery about it, but something wasn't quite right...

"Did you bring that envelope I asked you to?"

"Yeah. Maybe."

"What do you mean "maybe"? Did you or not?"

On the dock of a small island, their were several people gathered, most of them tourists to the recently discovered island.

A short, slender woman bent down to open a suitcase. She had shoulder-length blonde hair and a worried look on her face.

"Oh, good. It is here. I thought we'd have to go back for it"

"Why would we do that? Is it really that special?" A man stood before her, with dark brown short hair and a sizable gut. This man was her husband, Eric, who tended to ask questions a lot since she doesn't always tell him everything.

"Oh, you'll see how special it is." she replied.

"There you go again Sarah, keeping something from me," Eric said as he sighed.

"Only 'cause I like to watch you squirm," Sarah responded, with a smirk on her face.

They made it from the dock towards a camp that the people who discovered the island set up. A Tall man with a grey beard was talking to the crowd that gathered. Sarah and Eric heard him as they drew closer.

"-Within the yellow marked areas on your maps, the green area is the camp. All the other areas you are to stay clear of unless instructed to enter them, as they haven't been explored as much yet. The species of insects, reptiles, birds and other sorts don't seem to be dangerous from what we've discovered, but we aren't liable to any injuries or deaths that may occur, pray they do not. That is all for now, we'll have a break and meet me back here in half an hour so I can brief you upon survival techniques if you wish to venture into the yellow coded parts of the island."

Sarah turned to Eric. "It's just a tropical island, what's the worst that could happen?"

Eric answered, "We could all get malaria!"
"Not since we've all had malaria shots, and that question was kind of rhetorical."

"Oh yeah, I forgot about those."

"That's 'cause you fainted while having it done"

"Shut up! You know I have a fear of needles... Anyway don't you think this island is a bit strange?"

While they were standing in the camp, the wind blew through the evergreen trees as the waves crashed against the lime green rocks.

"How do you mean?" Enquired Sarah.

"How do I mean? Look at the trees! Look at the rocks! The sand's Black for God's sake!"

"There are lots of places with black sand!"

"Yeah, but I don't think many tropical islands have evergreens all around!"

"Oh shush. Anyways I'm going this way; you're free to come if you want."

Sarah walked off away from the camp in a stride.

Eric shouted; "Hey! We haven't even set up our stuff!"

"Just leave it there! We'll do it later!" Sarah continued off into the depths of the island and Eric followed, leaving their things behind.

Part 2 of 2

As they ventured further, the trees seemed to narrow, leaving little space to get through, but finally opened up, revealing a beautiful waterfall with flowers growing through cracks in the rocks beside it.

"Wow, that's amazing!" Eric remarked.

"Yeah, I bet you're glad we didn't set up camp, it would have been dark by the time that was done and we wouldn't have seen this."

Sarah climbed a small rock near the waterfall and put her hands in it, feeling the coolness of the water.

Eric started to worry. "But won't it be dark by the time we get back?"

"Nah, I reckon we've still got 2 hours before it gets dark and it only took us 20 minutes to get here."

"Ok, if you say so..."

Eric climbed the rock Sarah was on, and started to splash her with the water.
"H-hey! Stop it!" Sarah splashed back. As they were splashing each other with water, the rock was getting wet and Eric slipped off the rock and in the water below the waterfall.

"Eric! Are you ok?"

Eric surfaced above the water. "Yeah, but I think a rock hit my arm 'cause it really hurts!"

Sarah jumped off the rock and went beside the water as Eric climbed out.

"Oh that does look sore," Sarah said. Eric's forearm had a large red mark on it.

"I'll be alright, I think."

"Ok then, let's go this way!"

"Oh God Sarah, you're like a child!"

Eric followed her anyway, as they went further into the island.

"Hey! I don't think we're in the yellow parts of the island anymore," Eric said, "In fact, I think we're in the red parts."

"Yeah, maybe we should go back... right after we see what's round this rock...

As they went round a large rock, they found a door made of old wood, embedded in the rock.

Eric was confused. "What the hell? I thought his island was uninhabited by people!"

"Why would there be a door in a rock...?" Sarah got closer to it and tried to open it, with no luck.

"There's no handle," Sarah stated, "how can we open it?"

She then stood back a bit, and kicked the door. It loosened a bit, and she was able to pry it open by the edge. They both looked in, and found it to be pitch black.

Eric stared at the darkness. "That's really dark."

"What's more strange, is that no light is going in," Sarah replied.

She picked up a small, lime green stone and threw it into the darkness. They watched it as it descended. It didn't disappear as something usually would in a dark space, but rather, it just got smaller and smaller.

Sarah leaned in. "Wow, it's like there's nothing there... as if it's blank space."

"I think we should go Sarah, and stop getting closer, you might fall in!"
Just then, the ground started to shake. It was like an earthquake, making Eric and Sarah shake as well.

"What's happening?!" Eric stayed low in case he fell over.

"I know what I have to do now!"

"What do you mean?!"

"I'm sorry Eric, at first I was scared, but now I've found my purpose, what she-"

"What are you talking about Sarah?!"

"Just listen! My grandmother gave me this letter, hold on to it." She passed Eric the envelope. "I have to leave you now, I know it might hurt for I while but I hope you forgive me..."

Sarah went closer to the door.

"Sarah! No! What are you doing?!" Eric exclaimed.

He scrambled to his feet and tried to grab her, but it was too late. She stepped off the edge. He watched as she fell, getting smaller and smaller, like the stone she threw down it.

"SARAH!!! NO!!!!"

Eric collapsed to his knees, crying into his hands. The ground suddenly stopped shaking. He sat there for a while, realising he'd never see her again.

"Sarah... why?"

He then looked behind him and found the envelope that she gave him before she stepped through the door. He proceeded to open it. It read:

"Dear Sarah,

This is grave news I am to tell you. You will have to make the hardest decision in your life. You won't believe what I have to say, but keep this letter with you to remind you of it, or else the world will end.

You will find yourself in a strange place soon enough. You will be with your husband Eric. You will find a doorway. Once opened, you will know what to do. I didn't want to tell you this, but it's the only way to save the planet. I will always love you and hope to see you again someday.

Grandma"

There once was a city called Ys in ancient times. It was believed Ys (also known as Is, Ker-Is and Ker-ys), a place that was on the coast of Brittany, was a holy city that collapsed into a city of sin. Ys was one of the last pagan areas which led to Christian theories that Ys was punished by the Christian god and Ys went underwater which has created geographic reasons that the sea level rose. These are two of many reasons for the collapse of Ys. On September the 21st 2009, something was spotted in the water off the coast of Brittany by a fisherman. Upon inspection, it appeared to be a doorway to a corridor which extended down to the depths to, theoretically, Ys; where it leads to exactly, is unknown.

I looked up from the folder, letting out a sigh, to see the rest of people in helicopter which were meant to be part of a squad. I never asked for this. All I was, was a simple archaeologist, always curious about why civilizations were created and why they fell. On normal circumstances, I would of turned down the offer to help some government fraction raid ruins but I was running low on money. It was terrible. Me and Sandra were living off beans on toast. It always broke my heart to look into the eyes of my son, Richard, and remember that if I couldn't get a lot of money fast, we'd be on the street. This was no way to bring up a son...No way...Although for some reason, a reason I could never put my finger upon, it brought déjà vu. Why...

I moved the fringe out of the way of my eyes. There were three others in the helicopter. There was a woman, no older than mid thirties, with a tank top on and a baseball cap pressed down as though to shield her eyes from the sun outside or my gaze. She had a black or dark navy (I could not tell due to the morning sun shooting it's rays into my eyes) head piece that ducked from out of her dark brown hair (that was tied back into a pony tail with what looked like a black elastic band to me) and extended to near her mouth. The rest of the people on the helicopter had a very similar, if not exact copy, head piece including me. I remember me fiddling with it a lot earlier because I couldn't quite get it to stay on my ear until the leader of the group told me in an irritated tone "fix your headset before I fix your hands". Paulson introduced me to her and told me her name was Nichols. Currently she was typing away on a small black labelless laptop which she had been busy on for the past three hours, even while we refuelled at Dover.

Next to me was Jeffries (or sometimes called by Paulson, just Jeff) who was now holding onto his gun while staring into space and chewing gum. He had aviators on which hid his eyes and a helmet that hid his hair. He had a very similar clothes set as Paulson, long sleeved shirt and cargo trousers with boots running up his leg under the trousers. He had three pouches on a belt going around him, a handgun holster down one leg and a backpack on. Unlike Paulson, he seemed to have another pouch on the other leg as the handgun holster.

Suddenly, my concentration was broken by Paulson asking Nichols "so what is the significance of this city anyway?". Nichols kept her head down, still facing the computer and replied in an unrecognisable accent and monotone voice "ask Carter, it's why you bought him right?". Paulson then turned to me, a cigar in his mouth and repeated the question. Paulson looked similar to Jeffries in terms of the clothes he wore (which, like Jeffries and Nichols, was all black) and the gun he held but differed from Jeffries in his face. He didn't have any glasses and instead had a cigar hanging out of his mouth. He had a darker skin colour and a rounder face. He also had a cleaner shave and appeared to be probably bald (while Jeffries probably still had hair on his head).

I told him "Ys was a city a long time ago that, according to myths, went underwater after the princess gave the key to the devil. He unlocked the gates during a storm thus plunging it underwater. It was believed to be a complete myth until a corridor rose to the surface roughly where the city used to be. It's significant because it's a mythical city and the only reason listed for its downfall is religious reasons."

Paulson opened his mouth to say something but the pilot said something in an unknown language which sounded French. Nichols then looked up from her laptop, as the helicopter lowered upon the water and said "okay everyone, we're here. Jefferies, you rig the door to open. Don't use too much explosives or you'll destroy the corridor and sink the city again". We landed right next to the small platform and Jefferies got out while saying in a harsh voice "alright then". After a minute of waiting as he removed things from his backpack and applied it onto the door, Jefferies got back on the helicopter and muttered "done" as he sat down. The helicopter rose and he pulled a switch on a hand-held black control device sparking an explosion loud, sharp and sudden enough for me to jump.

The helicopter then lowered it's self to the water a second time. Jefferies stepped off the helicopter first to the small platform around a dark hole followed by Paulson. "Come on Carter" he told me "we don't have all year". I got up with my rucksack and climbed off the helicopter. The helicopter quickly raised its self back to height and started flying back to the nearest land. Nichols then spoke through the headset "okay, we'll return in roughly six hours, if you need to be picked up before then or later then feel free to say. If you need additional information, then contact me, otherwise; you're on your own".

I looked down the hole and suddenly felt a sensation of vertigo. God...How deep was it...I was then distracted by watching a rope fall down the hole. Paulson then said "okay, we can go down the hole as far as the rope will reach but after that, we'll have to climb. Jeff, you do have the climbing gear right?". Jefferies banged his backpack with his left hand as though to indicate as yes. Once Paulson attached Jefferies to the abseil rope, he attached me to it and told me "just do what we taught you and you'll live". I recounted the lessons in my head as I backed towards the hole with my eyes shut. Okay, heels over the hole...Lean over it, feet against the wall...Walk down...Let the rope slide through one hand as I go down...Easy enough, right? Paulson then followed above me as we declined into the darkness. As though to help quell my anxiety, Jefferies turned his torch on his jacket on while muttering under his breath "a little night light for the civilian".

Using the light, I managed to observe the corridor we were abseiling down. The stone appeared to be blocks of large stones piled up on each other. As we went deeper and deeper down the vertical corridor, the greenness of the moss gave way to a hard dark grey rock. I paused at one point, sure I could see something in it's surface but was interrupted by Paulson giving me a hard nudge with the bottom of his boot and an annoyed voice telling me "god damn it kid, if Jeff wasn't below you I would of kicked you hard enough for you to fall off the rope. Don't tempt me to do it anyway. Keep fucking moving".

We carried on down and we realised that the rope wasn't long enough. Jefferies then set up additional rope to go down on. Once we reached about half way down that rope, we arrived in the city of Ys. The corridor gave away to a large room which we just let the rope pass through our fingers as we hung in the air. Jefferies arrived first and grabbed his submachine gun which was on a strap. I followed shortly to the floor and then Paulson came. I opened my bag and removed the handgun Paulson gave me while we were back at the base. It was a worn 92F which Paulson had chuckled a bit when giving it to me. Something about a bad luck streak and how I'd hopefully be the last of the run of bad luck.

Part 1.

I also removed from my bag a handheld flash light I bought along myself. I turned on the switch and then began examining the ruins. The stone seemed to be the materials of early 5th century but the design of the wall and the art work carved into the pillars and walls...This was late 5th century, maybe 6th century. What also puzzled me was how the materials lasted so long underwater and why there was variations of culture. Paulson then broke me from my day-dreaming with "Carter, what do you see". I spoke my mind "the materials used and the design don't match up in time nor culture. The designs are late 5th century or early 6th century with carvings of European and Asian decent but the materials used are early 5th century". "So what would that mean?" he asked with an edge of confusion. "Beats me".

We exited to the only corridor which wasn't blocked by a fallen pillar and slowly walked down it, paying caution to our surroundings. We moved through-out the rooms one by one in a linear fashion, our path paved by blockages. As we moved, more and more inconsistencies occurred to the point that by the fifth room I became almost convinced something was very wrong. There were statues of before the 5th centuries and furniture approaching the 15th century. The last kicker was when I found someone's gun which looked roughly World War One or Two era in a glass cabinet in decoration.

We then entered a large room that reminded me of a large hall; almost somewhere you'd hold banquets minus all furniture. As we entered, the door behind us closed hard and fast, creating a soft echo in the hall. I turned to face the wall. These were...Markings in an obscure language; Something that seemed like Latin, but almost older. I touched it lightly and suddenly, a large crash bounced off the walls through-out the room as though Jefferies had planted some more explosives. "Go check it out" Paulson commented behind me as I carried on trying to understand the markings. I could hear the sounds of foot steps and suddenly shouting quickly followed by shooting. I quickly turned 180 degrees, my handgun held in both hands but the sight I saw made me hesitant to fire.

Jefferies was trying to force what looked like a...Red worm out of his torso which had impaled it's self through him. It was about three inches thick and had three thick bone-like things coming from it spanning across his chest in a triangle shape. After a few seconds of trying to get it off, it retreated back into its hole with Jeffries. After the echo of his screams had ended which then was followed by a rumble...Things began clawing their ways out the hole. They were like unwrapped mummies or dried up nude zombies. What little flesh they had turned into a dark muddy brown and seemed to be the only thing holding the dark yellow bones together. The creatures shuffled towards me and Paulson slowly but with a scary sense of determination.

I stood there watching this, as more and more zombies dragged themselves from their hole. Paulson then suddenly open fired, spraying the mob in little bursts of bullets, only pausing from firing in bursts to reload his gun. I looked around, panicky, trying to find any way out of here. If we stayed, we'd be dead and Paulson's bullets didn't seem to have any affect on them. If anything, they seemed to be gaining speed and increasing in anger towards us. For no apparent reason, a door way opened nearby on the left wall. Me and Paulson ran to it but as soon as I got through the door, it slammed down shut, nearly crushing Paulson, with him on the other side. I banged the light brown door in anger yelling "OPEN UP", making small grains of rock or sand fall off. I searched desperately around the small corridor for anything to open the door while Paulson kept shouting at me variations of "open this fucking door". After a minute of desperate searching, Paulson ceased shouting and the gunshots ended. I looked down just in time to see the first few red drops leak through the door.

"What the fuck is going on?!" I screamed in anger while kicking the door several times. Soon after shouting this, I realised that the chances of me getting out were slim. The best thing I could do was keep moving and hope I don't come across any more zombies. I pointed my torch down the corridor and began to move again, my handgun still in my left hand but dangling loose. Maybe I had broken the unlucky streak by staying alive the longest; then again maybe I was the most unlucky? They died sooner and I have to suffer further torment, unsure if the next corner will lurk another being that would probably be better explained as a hallucination or a dream. Which hurt more? Physical pain or mental torment of you knowing you were going to die any second?

I slowly walked down the corridor, the only noise being the slight crunch of sand under my shoes and the occasional accidental kick of a small rock. The corridor went on and on, turning left and turning right with no end. The walls began to change in material, colour and design from the stone and sandy ruins of a 4th or 5th century palace to something that looked more ancient yet newer at the same time. There were metal bars circling the corridor with a strange damp rubbery material between the gaps. The longer I walked on, the more I was convinced I was hearing something. It started out as a small constant sound like someone rubbing their finger on wood and increased slowly to the point of hearing what I thought was screaming and pain but not from something that was human, but more animalistic. The corridor finally ended as the noises of screaming in pain reached their peak. I had also begun to feel vertigo despite me still going down one narrow corridor that remained flat. The room at the end was a small square room, slightly wider than the corridor I had walked down. The walls and design...I couldn't comprehend it. I felt like I knew what they were built from and the designs felt familiar but...No...

The room was bare except for three wooden solid pillars which reached about chest height; each one with a different item on them. One was an amulet, which was all purple around a small worn disc that had a hole in the centre and was completely plain. It had a copper chain attached to two small loops on the edges. Another table had dagger on it, the handle appeared to be carved out of stone as though a prison shank but instead of a normal stone blade, the blade was made of, what appeared to be, aquamarine or sapphire however it seemed to have a watery look to it. As though the surface flowed like a river slowly around the blade. The third table a small sceptre the size of a large mace. The handle was made of a dark wood which had what looked like three wooden "vines" wrapped around it from the round orb base to the end of the handle. Attached to the end of the handle was a larger orb with countless spikes protruding from it in an almost random fashion. The orb appeared to be made of a gemstone but the name of it I couldn't remember. It was a white-ish colour in contrast to the handle with small black splotches like someone spilt drops of black coffee onto paper.

Part 2.

Suddenly, the voices of people in pain ceased and instead were replaced by three voices. One was a female which seemed to try to seduce me, complimenting me, telling me how intelligent and witty I am and how I wouldn't look complete without such a sexy necklace like the amulet. Another one, an old man told me how I was deserving of royalty; how I deserved to rule the world, have whatever I desired and how I was so much better than everyone. All I would have to do was pick up the sceptre and him and me would rule the world together like butler and master. The third voice sounded like a black muscular guy who insulted everything about me and told me how if I didn't meet his demands of clasping my hands around the dagger's hilt, he would personally destroy me in a fashion to create as much pain for me as possible. He reassured me over and over again that pain also goes beyond the world of skin and muscle. That he could twist my soul in ways that no mortal man could even contemplate.

As I stood there with these voices in my head, each of them at the same time yet each of them I understood what they were telling me over the voice of the other one and the grinding of metal upon stone. I clutched my head as a strong feeling of vertigo took over again and lost my balance. I stumbled with my eyes closed and suddenly heard two voices scream in a way that I could not even comprehend let alone describe. The closest thing I could think of was a tiger or lion roaring in fury yet even then, it sounded more humanistic and more demonic. Everything was suddenly quiet as I was on my hands and knees, an item in my hands.

A chuckling then started to rise in volume for about ten seconds and then stopped, to be replaced by an old voice reassuring me "nice pick, you and I will rule the world, with you as my butler. Give me a few seconds to apply my strings onto you my puppet". Out of nowhere, I felt a rush of energy; energy that I could not handle. At first I began screaming and having what could be described as an epileptic fit. My skin began to harden and lose it's colour from under my clothes. I suddenly then started ripping out my hair and clawing my scalp until I was bald. I then used both of my hands to break open my eye sockets and remove my eyeballs and began eating them out of madness, first losing my vision in my right eye and then my left. My body carried on mutating in others ways, I began losing weight fast until I was much too thin for my clothes.

I began throwing up blood and other fleshy things as I felt my body alter more, bringing more and more pain. I could feel my body alter but I couldn't figure out in what ways due to my lack of vision and feeling pain all over. Suddenly, I saw a white flash followed by a collection of memories rushing into me; the people before me. The old occupants of the city of Ys was built upon ground which was weak enough spiritually for the old gods to communicate with it. They had bestowed three ancient artefacts indicating the three ways of life and the three roles: The amulet of Ashalla, the god of entertainment, seduction, agility and speed, the dagger of Rashthoral, the god of war, manual work, endurance and strength and the sceptre of Qashali, the god of nobility, servitude, intelligence and patience. However, the gods ended up going to war with each other which ended with Ys being sunk by the mother god Trishforra who prevented the war in Ys to escalating to world wide destruction. Every so often, when Trishforra became weak, the three gods combined their power together to create a corridor to the surface so one may take over the world and destroy the other gods. I was the first one to reach the chamber of the artefacts since the city of Ys collapsed due to Trishforra finding ways to destroy previous invaders. I saw the previous invaders; always in a group, always with one of my ancestors and always laid to waste.

My eyesight suddenly returned and I found myself lying on the beach of an island, barely recognisable from what I used to be. I was a frail creature, dark brown and rubbery like a shrunken head with my clothes barely hanging onto me in a ragged state and my hands now claws. "My servant, you must gather power. You are frail now and I sense you realise this but in time your power will increase. Using your current powers of manipulation and changing your body shape, you must lure more souls into my chamber by destroying them in my name and returning with precisely 113 hearts to this island. Once you have the hearts, I will be closer to being able to entering this world. I promise you, you will be king and I will be god, of the world".

"Yessss my mashtar, I vill comensh tis ach vonch" I spoke, hollowly, in my head. I rose up to do my master's bidding, still clutching onto the mace he gave onto me as a gift. Yes, my god, I will do as you command and spread your name at once.

And part 3. Word count: 3714.

Unfortunately, I won't be around until July 8/9, so it'll be antagonizing to wait that long to see if I won. But I'll be in Costa Rica, so even if I don't win, I still win.

Anyway, this is inspired by the 16874651 "nukes are bad" stories from the late 40's and 50's. But as far as I know, it's still original.

Are You Ready?
Word Count: 1,047

"Are you ready?"

David Hahn looked at his assistant with stone eyes. He was never good at lying, especially about where he was or where he was going. Thinking about that, he realized that it was his poor lying skills that brought him to his current position. But now he needed to focus on getting off the boat and onto that island.

"Fuchs, I've got to be ready. I'm the man who's heading this entire test. You know the bomb is going off tomorrow and only tomorrow. The schedule can't be moved up or down."

Fuchs nodded his head in disappointment, knowing that he would have to wait to view the 13th US nuclear test.

Hahn checked his watch and turned away from the lab assistant in an attempt to lie. "I'm going to bed. Could you just run that last test in the lab for me?"

Fuchs agreed, downtrodden by the fact that he had to vomit for another twelve hours before he could see the terribly awesome explosion.

David suddenly turned around and solemnly said "And whatever happens, the show much go on."

The lab assistant stood and stared at Hahn before slowly repeating "the show must go on."

Hahn walked away without any intentions to fall asleep, at least for now. Quietly, he walked to the edge of the small boat, which bobbed in the small waves of the Pacific Ocean. He looked about himself, trying to avoid the suspicions of the guards. With one last look, he clumsily flopped into the life boat clinging to the edge. David stayed low for a few minutes before slowly lowering himself into the cold, dark waters of the night.

David pushed himself way from the boat, rocking the boat sideways as it struggled to begin its final journey.

He paddled all night, fighting the overwhelming resistance of the water, trying to pull him back towards the boat. The water would not allow him to abandon the progress he has made in the nuclear sciences. The water would not allow him to reverse his once held belief that his research was good. The water would not allow him to destroy himself.

Hahn reached the island at daybreak. Exhausted, his un-athletic frame dragged itself onto the beach. He shoved the rowboat into the open water, trapping himself on the doomed island. David wearily dragged himself into the foliage and disappeared underneath the canopy of brush to sleep.

-----

David Hahn woke up hours later, the sun shining bright through the green leaves and pastel colors of the forest. He stood up, stretched, and set off.

He wandered around in amazement, marveling at the lush flora engulfing him. He walked in udder silence, partially afraid to wake the dormant island, partially in sincere reverence for the magical depths it contained.

He stumbled his way along, delving deeper and deeper into the island, finding more and more secrets it has held for innumerable centuries. He soon began to make stories for the plants, personifying them into friends to take along on his walk. That tree, that one over there, it was lonely; nothing of its kind is near, nor will it ever be. Those plants, the ones huddled together beneath the shade of the pua keni keni, they're conducting a secret meeting to overthrow the biggest plant, their King.

On and on Hahn went, walking in circles and thinking of new storylines to add to his mythology until he had a Shakespearean drama. He went on for hours, epic battles and undiscovered love triangles playing in the theater of his mind. Soon, however, a holocaust was brought to the island. Rocks and boulders were tossed from trebuchets and vine whips were cracked. The doves fled quickly, their cries falling on a people without ears. Plants and trees on both sides were knocked over, crushed, trampled, all in the name of the good.

David ran away, attempting to flee the destruction he had created, but it was never far behind, clawing at his heels. Suddenly he stopped as the soldiers fought on, edging closer to him as the generals looked for more to demolish, more to kill, more to step on.

David Hahn was frozen in front of a bush bathed in blood. Its leaves, its stems, its roots were drenched in a deep crimson overflowing on to the surrounding plants. It was the color of greed, of envy, of hate, of joy, of sorrow, of love, of passion. It smelled of lust and death, of power, of doom, of creativity and effigy. Its voluminous scarlet leaves were brushed with all the great fires of all the history of all the world. Its thin, fragile stem was constantly growing, creating a tangled spider web of past failures, successes and draws. This bush of fire and blood had become so old, it had fallen on its primal instincts, continuously reaching out and raping all that was around.

Although only a slight breeze had winded its way through the jungle, the bush threatened to become uprooted, straining to stay connected to the island, to stay in control of the chaos encircling Hahn.

The stranger dropped to his knees in awe and shame of this plant.

"Oh Humanity!" he cried to the bush, "Oh Mankind! What have you done?! What have you become!?"

His voice softened to a whisper as the battle behind raged on, the cracks of rifles and the cries of the infantry bombarding the island

"What have you done to me?" he pleaded faintly.

He tilted his head back, looking for Shiva, Anubis, Allah, Yemen, God. Yet all he saw was the tall metal tower, standing strong against the machine guns and artillery in the trenches far below. Suspended from that tower sat the human scientist's God of Death. It hung there, never swaying, never shaking, never moving. The black metal shell reflected the world in its eyes.

David held his gaze to the god for a long time, even as shouts of German, Japanese, English and Russian resounded against his ear drums. Slowly he brought his eyes back to the plant. A siren sounded, long and dreadful, warning of the impeding doom David was about to face. He looked at Humanity earnestly, asking it one final question:

"Are you ready?"

Island Retreat
Word Count 2,569

A young man sits on top of a rock, a gentle breeze flicking his long sun-bleached hair away from his face just a little. His fishing rod motionless, as the line pricks the still waters of the lagoon. Suddenly a gentle tug on the line snaps him back to his senses and he hauls in his bounty.

"This is the life."

He walks back to a rudimentary shelter, made of palm leaves suspended over a more secluded part of the beach. The waves gently coast up the beach a little way from the camp, far enough to be safe, but not so far that they are completely ignored. Mind you, with the size of the island, it would be difficult to forget about the sea and the solitude. He sets down a few fish next to the fire pit and stokes the fire with a few pieces of driftwood, the flames crackling back into existence.

As he prepares the fish for cooking, he thinks to himself about the radio programme, "Desert Island Discs". He finds it difficult to imagine what sorts of tunes that he would have brought with him for living in a place like this. It would possibly be something relaxing, but not too much of a reminder of the day-to-day hustle and bustle of life. Cleaning the knife off before replacing it, he places the fish one some of the hot, flat stones near the flames. It may not be gourmet cooking, but it was enough to keep him going. There is something about the food that you cooked yourself, that makes it taste better than the finest nouvelle cuisine money could buy from a five star restaurant.

With the fish starting to brown by the fire side, he walks along the coast, tossing the trimmings to a few lazy gulls that are relaxing on the calm waves. As he strolls back to the camp, one of the palm trees catches his eye and a smile creeps across his unshaven face. Mother Nature has been kind to him thus far and now she has seen fit to bless his stay on the island with a coconut or two into the bargain. Having wrapped a few of these into a bundle made from his T-Shirt, he walks back to the camp.

He checks the fish, to see how the cooking is progressing and then turns his attention toward the nuts. Stripping the green outer husk away from the fruit, he keeps that to one side with the firewood. Best not to put it into the fire at present, as it would only smoke too much. He finds a sharp-looking rock not too far from the camp and after a few attempts at cracking the first coconut, this one finally splits.

"Looks like I'll need some more practice at that." He chuckles to himself, as he brings the two halves of coconut back to the fire side. With most of the milk spilled over the sands to either side of the rock, only the flesh remains as the fruit of his labours. He stokes the fire and finishes cooking the fish. Still, when you think about it, a meal of filleted white fish and coconut flesh was not bad fair for the first week on your own.

* * *

The night is cool, but peaceful. The sound of the surf breaking down the beach proves relaxing enough to send him to sleep and the next morning comes with a brilliant unspoilt vista of a sunrise through the palm fronds and a few hills rising in towards the centre of the island.

He rises and takes a swim in the lagoon, coupled with a flask full from the stream that keeps the waters fresh, between tidal movements.

As he walks back to the camp, he looks up to the sky and sees that plenty of dark clouds are massing on the horizon. Taking the decision to head inland in search for a more substantial piece of cover, he stashes the remaining coconut and a few pieces of the driftwood into his rucksack and heads off up the beach, stopping only to claim another two from the windfall at the tree he found the day previous.

The vegetation is quite dense without many creatures to keep it in check, it grows thick in places. Picking his way through the lighter patches and using his knife to gain extra passage through to where there might be caves of some sort. As he hacks through some jungle vines, he hears a vicious rumble of thunder reverberate across the bay. Back-tracking a short way, he cuts another swathe through a bush and makes his way toward a tall looking outcropping of rock. Totally exhausted, he finally comes across his goal - the mouth of a cave. Slumping inside the cave, he watches as the view of the bay and his path are slowly obscured by the encroaching storm.

With the rain beating down and drawing a clear line across the cave, he sits up and undoes his pack, before setting a small fire in the dry part of the cave mouth, giving the smoke somewhere to dissipate. Setting to work with the second of his coconuts, he manages to save almost half a nut of the sweet milk within. Silently, he sits and watches the rain, while drinking his coconut milk.

As the rain continued, he started to consider his options. Working out how long the firewood would last approximately and from there, how long he would have before his small food supply ran out, he sat on the rocks in the cave mouth and watched the fire grow, the only sounds being the occasional crackle of the dry wood and the constant hiss of the rain beating down on the hillside.

A restless night followed.

After staying up for most of the night if only to keep the fire fed, he awoke, with the rain having lessened. Although the rain had not ceased completely, the showers that greeted him this morning had lost the ferocity of the lashing that had beset his island hideaway. He feasts on the remaining white coconut flesh from the one half, before heading back towards the beach, to check on the remains of his camp.

The slopes of the hill are slippery and he nearly falls on a few occasions. Eventually, the wet granite gives way to the sand of the beach and he looks despairingly upon what remains of his fire pit - now only a pool of half burned flotsam - and his shelter, which had been strewn halfway up the beach. He drops to his knees, throws his head back and lets forth an anguished scream to cleanse his body and soul of the anger and frustration within. A light drizzle starts to fall, mockingly.

His spirit broken, he wanders the beach, aimlessly as the hours pass. The sun tries in vain to break through the cloud cover, but is repeatedly beaten back by wave after wave of rain clouds. Most of their barrage this time is directed out to sea and after a few hours, he is still quite dry.

Stumbling up the beach, he comes across what remains of his crudely fashioned fishing pole. The stick broken, but the line and hook still largely in tact. For the first time in hours, a smile breaks through his rough unshaven face and he allows himself a small chuckle. He bends down and picks up the remains, slowly and deliberately trying to untie the line. After a short while, he takes his knife and cuts the line, carefully winding the valuable few feet of line up, stashing both that and the bent hook in an old tobacco tin in one of the pockets of his backpack.

Over the next few restless days, he toils to rebuild the paradise of a beach camp that had been his home for the past few days. He digs a new fire pit, further from the sea this time, bringing larger rocks from the foothills to encircle it. When the flames return to the camp, he slowly sets about reconstruction of the beach shelter, only stopping occasionally to drink from his water stockpile, where his now empty coconut halves have been filled from the water spring. He pushes them lightly into the sand behind a large rock and covers them with a large leaf, to stop the sand from getting in.

Once the camp is rebuilt to his satisfaction, he allows himself a chance to sit back and admire his handiwork again. While the reconstruction of the shelter had been much more rushed this time, it still provided a source of shade from light showers and the worst of the sun's heat. Safe in the knowledge that the cave is a short walk away, he allows himself to relax once more, wiping the sweat from his brow and sipping some more of his fresh water.

Once the camp is rebuilt to his satisfaction, he allows himself a chance to sit back and admire his handiwork again. While the reconstruction of the shelter had been much more rushed this time, it still provided a source of shade from light showers and the worst of the sun's heat. Safe in the knowledge that the cave is a short walk away, he allows himself to relax once more, wiping the sweat from his brow and sipping some more of his fresh water.

With the worst of the weather front past, only light showers serve to distract from the task at hand. Fishing in the lagoon is tranquil, until he decides to take a swim in those same calm waters. Swimming out to the reef, he gazes in wonder at the plethora of life and colour that inhabits the border between the costal pool and the open ocean of the Pacific.

A few peaceful days pass, with only one more night spent under the cover of the cave mouth. The island has been his home for almost ten days now and as a result, the sun-burnt skin on his face and arms is starting to reveal a deep brown tan.

"I am king of all I survey." He smiles at the thought, then suddenly snaps himself to his senses and runs, before diving head first into the lagoon, cleansing the thought from his mind in a short, sharp burst. Surfacing, he watches a large bird take flight out to sea and allows himself to drift aimlessly in the waters of the lagoon.

The days pass slowly, the time wearing away at his resolve and slowly he comes to appreciate the tranquil beauty of not being a slave to anything. As he sits on a shaded rock overlooking the lagoon, fishing once more, he hears the roar of a motor from a speedboat. Instinct prevails over curiosity and suddenly he hauls in his line and heads for the bushes at the edge of the beach, stealing through them to get a closer look.

The powerful boat skims over the waves, coming into view from around the beach head. An unmistakable livery adorns the hull and suddenly he realises who rides within. Picking his way through the bushes, he grabs his pack, stuffs a few pieces of food and carefully packs his treasured fish hook into the tin. Finally, he opens the top pocket of the pack, one which he has not touched since arriving on the island. Pulling a hand gun out of the pocket, he takes careful aim at the boat, sighting the direction and speed carefully. He lowers his arm, checking his weapon and releases the safety. He fires into the sky and a brilliant red flare indicates his position. As the boat comes around for another pass, he walks slowly to the edge of the lagoon, where he waits.

As the boat pulls alongside, the passenger hails him.

"Mr. Rogers, you are a very difficult man to find. You have overstayed your welcome on this island." A smile breaks through the man's facial hair and he stands defiantly on the edge of the lagoon, as the boat drifts in closer.

"As usual, if I want not to be found, I can find time for myself. I see the company spared no expense to find me though. Permission to come aboard?"

"Granted." The passenger reaches out and helps Mr. Rogers down to the boat, which takes them away back towards civilisation.

* * *

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Rogers considers his last two weeks, stranded from all cares in the world on a desert island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. The ups and downs of this exhilarating time have left quite an impression upon him. Time waits for no man. He pulls out the clippers and starts to remove the beard from his chin, exposing his chin to the elements once more.

Walking back into his wardrobe, he selects his clothes and dresses. Standing in front of the full-length mirror, he suddenly looks like the man he left behind almost three weeks ago. He drives to the office and parks up, before heading to his office.

"Good morning, Mandy. I trust that you've been able to keep things running smoothly while I've been gone?" A mind-30s brunette looks up over her first coffee of the morning and smiles warmly, getting up to greet Mr. Rogers.

"You know how persistent Takahima can be, Chris." She presses a mug of hot coffee into his hands. "He practically threatened to get you to sack me."

"Ah, but without you to know where I was, how would he know where to find me to get me to give you the sack? I might call him later." Mandy feigns confusion, having heard his spiel plenty of times during her employment.

"Where were you lurking this time? The golf course again?"

"Now we both know that if I told you that, I really would have to fire you. Besides, you don't get this kind of tan from playing golf for three weeks." He runs his fingers through his hair and Mandy laughs at how coy Chris is being.

"Would you go back there?"

"Perhaps I will at some point. Maybe not next year, because the beauty can be lost if you go too often, but I certainly wouldn't ever rule it out."

"Well, in that case, take some pictures next time, so that I can appreciate the beauty as well. After all, it's me that is keeping Takahima from your back here at base."

"I'll certainly consider that, Mandy."

Chris walks through to his desk, running his fingers across the name plate at the head of his desk "Chris Rogers, CEO" He sits down in his chair and places his coffee on the desk, before flicking through the morning's papers.

He checks the market data in the front of the Financial Times and his eyes glaze over as suddenly the enormity of the headlines on the three newspapers in front of him sink in.

"DOOMSDAY!"

"Widespread condemnation as France tests nuclear device beneath Pacific Ocean"

"Ecological Wasteland"

His hand shaking, Chris reaches across to the console and he presses the intercom button.

"Mandy, please could you cancel any appointments I have for today." His voice cracks and his eyes are bloodshot, fighting back tears.

"Is everything alright, Chris?"

"I'm fine, I just want to have a good run at the paperwork today, that's all." As the intercom clicks off, he puts down his reading glasses and looks at the computer screen, the map showing clearly the location where the nuclear test took place. Within the inner ring of "Immediate danger", as the news website calls it, there is a tiny speck. Chris zooms in and takes one last look at the place he had called home for three wonderful weeks. His private sanctum - his paradise was now no more.

An Infinite Memory
(1142 words)

Father, I can no longer sleep; I sit here subjected to the contagious reverberation of a single yawn-- bouncing off of the walls of this cramped bedroom in this house which seems as far too large for us, as it almost always has been; In my head my thoughts seem scattered, spontaneous, even free, and yet-- I am so subconsciously focused on your dimly lit clock before me whose existence outlasts mine that I find myself slowly mimicking its consistent pattern of popping joints until my wretched body moves an inch by the steady frozen hour. My eyes are wide as they've ever been; they would never close if not for the fan that regulates my temperature whilst drying my eyes constantly like salt and slugs.

I remember your story, which you told me when I was young; the only one that you've ever told me. I remember the lonely boy on his island-which in mass was nearly as small as he, but was magnificently large and limitless in content. And, to the boy, the island was a tactile representation of his rampant mental self. As far as his memories could stretch and strain synapses to reach, he had been born there and was the only creature on his island that had any strand of memory at all. I remember how he passed the time-he was never taught to understand time to begin with, how he rejected any one religion; he accepted every experience, every overly-perceptive slip of the eye or ear as a simple truth. He had never developed a concept of contradiction; he always had to make room on his island for a mad rush of new ideas which coexisted in his busy inefficient world. I remember you speaking of closing or shutting or slamming or welding or sealing or locking a door-- which you said could be the one to lead to an infinite paradox universe of other doors, "snuffing the infinite" you called it. I remembered, shortly thereafter, seeing your mouth form vague and unfamiliar words which I could no longer hear; I would soon fall into a deep sleep, which I now envy.

How many times within the next week did I wake early to beg and plead and tug at your burnt-ironed pant leg as you were leaving the house for work where you would leave me stranded-marooned alone? I've spent more time by myself than in your company. Did you suspect that when my ship had wrecked I wouldn't swim to the nearest shore to claim my own island?

As a child I remember being alone one Friday night, long long after you had left for work (you had left the TV on to father me, and I immediately snuffed it out) and I set the dingy dinghy sails for my island of mental clarity (or fun, at the time), my oasis in a vast suburban desert. I had arrived and stayed all afternoon until I had exhausted myself entirely (perhaps less physically) and stumbled and tripped over a translucent root to a shallow unrewarding sleep. I did not dream at all that night. Surely you were at least somewhat aware, I had left you enough clues throughout the house: my castle of blocks which was left lying on your lonely island bed, my laundry basket sled at the bottom of the stairs, my lamp of a royal guard which now wore my shoes, the shurikens that I had folded in class scattered about the floor, my face painted with your purchased-rotten fruit.

The next day I woke up, not in a daze, but more clear and level headed than I ever had. It was Saturday and you had a welcoming bath going for me. I loved the sound of running water like the pounding of the water endlessly falling back into itself. I jumped in the tub without seeking you or your explanation, and I don't think that I ever would have gotten out if not for the ripe smell of blueberry pancakes that had crept under the bathroom door to tease my senses and challenge my plaster-brick will. Back then my appetite for food always did overpower my desire for cleanliness, didn't it Father?

For once I didn't ask you to continue your story, I was content with my own personal addition, and did not desire anything better. I was afraid too of what happens to the boy in the end, surely I did not want to hear the end, nobody truly wants to know the end of something that they love. Love favors ignorance over curiosity, I should ask mother about that-- though I'll save it for another time...

I remember now that it was you who brought it up that day, you had begun and startled me breaking a long comfortable silence as I was contentedly soaking up an ocean of drool in the most fittingly absorbent pancake that I had ever had the intense pleasure of wrapping my tongue around.

"So why haven't you asked today? I'd be surprised to find that you've lost interest." I was playing hard-to-get and sold you a terrible attempt at a look of disinterest. "Don't pretend. I'm sure that your mouth waters at the thought of merely discovering the name of you island idol." My mouth was, in fact, watering-I blamed it on the pancakes. "I think it's cute, if you ask me boy, running around acting the part of the character from such a simple story, and I'm certainly no troubadour. I could not appreciate the asinine tale that my father had told me as a boy. Although, I'm beginning to understand why he invariably tried." I swallowed the now tasteless mass of what used to be a quite beautiful and delicious pancake. "I have to say, I'm growing quite fond of telling it, of creating something original, again."

I relaxed, without any doubt that he would continue like a newly cracked dam. "It's irrelevant, if you have to know-- his name I mean, yes, it's completely irrelevant. If he had ever given himself a name it would have been change a thousand times over without warning, and he-the boy- was subjected to this." He paused. I had turned off all idle senses for the sake of focus. "Perhaps subjected is bit too strong. The boy had never offered care for the prevention of any changes, they occurred, and he accepted them with arms as wide as his imagination, he welcomed them like old friends."

...

Well father, I am older now, and I could be nowhere else-- I am writing to you from my own island; your old bed which now seems even lonelier than ever. My imagination seems more rampant and is (uniquely to me) far more believable than ever, and every images is growing more hostile.

Here we see the work of man. A human whose skin is now a boiling red viscous liquid. A human who has enormous tumours all over his body, too big that it constantly squirts out colorless pus. A human whose brain is exposed, showing a rotten organ bathed in yellow-green blood. A human who no longer has reason to live.

"Combinatory treatment of streptococci pneumoniae, streptococci pyogenes, and mucorales B failed to immediately necrotize test subject. Commencing euthanasia via release of sludge mutation G."

Sludge pours out from underneath the man's cell and approaches him slowly. He makes no attempt to escape. They latch themselves on to his feet, blood immediately gushing out. The man doesn't move. They move towards the groin while his legs are coated with his own blood. He drops to his knees, not even flinching. The entity has now made its way to his upper abdominal region, starting to eat away his heart. His eyes give out a blank stare to the man with the coat, grinning whilst looking at him intently. He attempts to give him the finger, struggling to raise his hand as the scientist's grin evolves to deranged laughter. Just as he finally raises his middle finger up, his heart was eaten away by the sludge.

Then everything went black.

"Release bacteria toxin F17."

A deep blue gas is then released. This triggers the bacteria's self preservation instincts as they attempt to desperately run away from the gas. Their effort was for no avail. The bacteria slowly fizzles away, the gas being sucked into them. Ultimately, their fate is decided by loud pops and fizzles, turning both gas and sludge into nothingness. Only what is left of the test subject's body remained.

Once everything is all said and done, the scientist leaves, heading for the elevator. As he leaves, he looks at his other works. He sees a woman who has very long hair, fused lips, completely black eyes, and a perfect hourglass figure. The woman's glare pierces into the man's soul, her glare intensifying to such a degree that her hair starts flailing madly like wild snakes. The scientist just waved at her, as if mocking her in her state of imprisonment. Then, he sees a very large black dog which has learned to stand on its hind legs. Its mouth emits a green, sulphurous gas every time it opens. The scientist merely looks at him, raising a rubber ball in the process. The dog makes an attempt to get it, but it merely slams into the tough glass. It falls to the ground, unconscious, and unable to even make a dent on the glass.

"Good boy," the scientist exclaimed. He then places the ball into one of his coat pockets as he enters the elevator.

The elevator stops at the 31st floor, the highest floor. The test subjects here are kept in cryogenic chambers. To help them cope with their hunger, heavily insulated feeding tubes are inserted through their bodies. Special helmets are worn over their heads which enable them to see and hear in cryostasis. However, they also disable the subject's other senses, including speech. These helmets also help to preserve the health of their brain cells and to help detect any anomalies in the subject's body. They also control the breathing of the subject. Various needles are also strategically placed within the chambers for testing purposes.

"Experement 31-F, you're up!"

A cryogenic cylinder hums to life, presenting before the scientist an interesting specimen. The sleeping creature's eyes start to open, slowly awakening from a very deep slumber.

"...beautiful. You, my lady, are very beautiful."

Her blue irises start to focus towards the lone man in the room who can move freely. As she starts to orient herself to her surroundings, she realizes that she is in a cryogenic cylinder, naked.

"...robust bosoms, smooth skin, blue eyes, nice ass, you have everything a man like me could like..."

As she hears the ramblings of the mad scientist, she desperately attempts to get out of her prison, only to realize that she is frozen into place.

"Don't worry, woman! You'll get out of there and into the wilderness, trust me. Follow me."

The cylinder jolts back to life and suddenly speeds through a series of curves, propelled by a system akin to that of a fusion of cable cars and roller coasters. Despite the series of bumps and turns, the person inside stays completely stable. The rough ride finally slows down, revealing to the girl a huge wall of glass, through it a very lush environment filled with weird flora and fauna.

"Beautiful sight, isn't it?"

She sees the scientist walk by the side, holding a remote control.

"Whenever I look at the wilderness, I always think of grapes. They are my favourite fruit. You'll be happy to know that there are many grapes there."

The woman simply attempted to curse him. No words come out.

"This is your new home."

As the ride finally stops, it starts up again at full speed. The velocity of the cylinder was so high that it smashes through the glass. It was also so fast that it pulled itself off of the cable where it was suspended, throwing itself deep into the wilderness. It plummets flat into the ground, completely intact.

"Before you are free, remember some house rules."

Speakers above and below her body suddenly turn on.

"Number one: Don't try to swim away. Once you do, I will activate a nanite that contains a very deadly bioengineered Hantavirus that will kill you in mere seconds."

The chamber's doors slowly open, releasing a cloud of vapour.

"Number two: Don't even try to come back here. If ever even a single hair comes into my building, I won't hesitate to activate the nanite. Would you like to die? I'm pretty sure you don't want to die."

The special helmet that hampers the woman's movement de-attaches itself from her head, revealing long and silky blonde hair.

"And number three..."

At this point, she gets out of the cylinder, breathing a heavy sigh as she sees several ferocious animals: wolf-like with very long tusks and horns made of hard bone, and a tail with a hard spherical shape at the end the size of a basketball.

"...you should always have fun! Good luck!"

A wolf ferociously rushes towards her, ready to tear her apart. As the wolf jumps at her, she crouches, grabbing the wolf by the legs in the process. She then proceeds to crush the lupine's lungs, leaving it gasping for air. While doing this, another wolf attempts to attack her, running towards her like a bullet train. She thinks quickly and throws the wolf whose lungs she is crushing at the oncoming threat. It slides cleanly into the tusks and horns of the other wolf, incapacitating them both. Two more wolves attack from opposite sides. One wolf charges into her, preparing to ram into her with its sharp tusks and horns. The other wolf jumps towards her and rotates so that its big tail will hit her face and leave her unconscious. She dodges both, jumping away from the running wolf and grabbing the tail of the one in mid-air. Wielding the wolf's tail like a mace, she pulls it into the other wolf's head, disorienting them both.

As she looks at the aftermath of the fight, she didn't expect a wolf suddenly biting her leg. She quickly kicked it with her other foot. The wolf then scurried back into the woods.

The bite marks stretched towards the majority of her lower leg. Blood was spurting out of every puncture wound like newly-popped zits. Then, as she was contemplating on whether it hurt or not, the puncture wounds started to rapidly heal. The many layers of the skin instantaneously regenerated, as if watching a fast-forwarded video of a wound healing. The woman merely stared in disbelief.

"I... I can't believe it."

"You might as well start to."

She looks behind her and sees a man, also naked. He was a large man, towering at 7'6" and having a very muscular build. He went closer to her, inspecting her leg.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Adam. I was a scientist, until I was knocked out cold while doing a genetic experiment. Next thing I knew, I was locked up in a cell. What about you?"

"I'm Eliza Messier."

The man momentarily froze. His eyes fixated on Eliza's body, scanning her like a powerful supercomputer. He immediately shook his head and flushed away his thoughts for the moment.

"Anything else you'd like to say about yourself?"

The woman took some time to think.

"Well?"

She gave a sigh, raising her head to the heavens and putting her hand on her chin, briefly forgetting about the man beside her.

"I'm guessing it's a no, then?"

She slowly lowered her head to the ground, rubbing her chin. After a few moments of realization, she finally gave a resigned nod.

"I feel sorry for you."

He actually felt a momentary reprieve.

"We need to go away from here. Follow me."

He held her by the hand and marched through the thick, dense forests of the island.

"We're here."

They were at the mouth of a relatively small cave which is large enough for a man to hide in. There were many stalactites above, giving the impression that the cave has very sharp teeth. The inside was faintly illuminated by a weak bonfire, revealing a stack of primitive weapons, a bed made of leaves, and some fruits wrapped in large leaves. Writings that mark how many days have passed akin to those writings in prison also reveal themselves, along with other random writings and expressions.

"This is our new home, if you don't mind to live with me, that is."

"It's not like I have a choice, I suppose."

"Well, we have to find some leaves for you to lie on, first."

He took a weapon from the stack. It was a stick with a sharpened edge. The stick looked like it was waxed perfectly, like a billiards stick. The sharp edge still had some blood on it.

"Alright, let's go."

They hacked their way through the dense forests, finding a tree with leaves big enough for one to lie on. They found trees that are covered with leaves, making the impression that they are gigantic bushes, trees which have very tough trunks with jagged exteriors, and trees which have weird blue and red hues. None of them held what Adam was looking for.

"What about that tree over there?"

The tree was a few feet taller than Adam. The trunk looked like many vines constricted into one, leaving a gap in between where 2 other vines intersected constantly until the top is reached, where the vines finally break free into branches. Hundreds of large leaves approximately four feet long and two feet wide encase the upper portion of the tree.

"Hmm. We could use those leaves, I suppose. It's my first time seeing that kind of tree, though."

"I'm getting one, then."

Eliza climbed the ladder-like trunk of the tree and attempted to get a leaf. No sooner did she set foot on the third step that the tree started to flail around madly, throwing the girl off-balance. The tree's vines then began to constrict more tightly, as if to form into a new shape. After a few moments, the vines suddenly loosened to reveal a humanoid creature with its limbs constricted into the many vines the tree has. The creature has brown skin, akin to that of the tree's bark. Its mouth was identified by the jagged edges opening up in the head. Its chest revealed a still-beating heart with a greenish-blue hue.

"...my god," the woman said in utter disbelief.

The vines then loosened up some more to give the creature a more humanoid shape. The leaves became the creature's hair and clothes. The vines which extended into branches became its long arms. The roots surface to become feet. Finally, the rest of the vines reinforced the creature's long arms, giving it gargantuan arms that could easily raze a good portion of the whole forest. It picks up Eliza by the head, holds her close to its mouth, and speaks in a deep, ancient voice.

"You alone can end this madness. Take your chances before they-"

Before it could say anymore, a sharp stick is plunged into its heart. It spurts a yellowish substance which smells of honey mixed with ground herbs. The entity arches forward and vomits more of the substance. It then falls to its knees, still vomiting a constant stream of the herbal honey mix. In its agony, it releases Eliza to the ground.

"*cough*...urgh...take your chances...*cough*, before they run out..."

It dropped dead soon afterwards. Adam then began collecting its leaves.

"We better be careful next time, I suppose."

Eliza didn't respond. Her brain was still trying to process what just happened. Who, or what, was that? What was he, she, or it trying to tell me? What does he mean?

"Eliza! Let's go. I have some fruit back in the cave."

He was motioning for her to hurry up. She quickly snapped out of her trance and followed him back to the cave, still thinking about the warning of the entity.

"At least you're safe. That's what matters."

They went inside. Adam went and got some fruits. They were as large as pineapples and had exteriors which were jagged and as hard as tree bark. There was a crack at the top which enabled Eliza to open it easily.

The inside looked like a big, juicy grape. It smelled very sweet, like grapes. Everything about it reminded her of a grape.

"I have always liked grapes. Whenever I taste this fruit, it immediately reminded me of grapes. They are my favourite fruit," said Adam, who was busy setting up Eliza's bed.

Then, it hit her.

Whenever I look at the wilderness, I always think of grapes. They are my favourite fruit.

The words of the scientist came back to her. She was disoriented at the time, yes, but she still remembered those meaningless words. Those words intermingled with the words of the creature's warning.

You alone could end this madness. Take your chances before they run out.

She dropped the fruit to the ground, holding a gaze that a person with a strong resolve would have. She marched right out of the cave, not knowing where she needs to go, but knowing what she needs to do.

"Eliza, where are you going!?"

She ignored Adam's questions. Every step she took away from the cave increased her resolve all the more. She didn't know why, but she kept going. There were questions everywhere, and she instantaneously knew who had the answer.

"Eliza!"

It was no use. Adam went back inside the cave.

Meanwhile, the scientist was busy euthanizing another test subject. It was a human-sized porcupine with quills dripping a glowing green, viscous liquid. Its beady eyes looked down to the floor, as if the animal was resigned to its fate.

The scientist's pager vibrated to life. He didn't need to look at it, for he already knew what it meant.

"Houston, we have a problem."

Night is quickly approaching as Eliza navigated her way deeper into the forest. She sees a rock which has a smooth and shiny exterior, as if waxed to a full shine. It was as big as a hill. She ignores the rock to concentrate on her quest. Soon afterwards, she sees it again. And again. And again. And again.

I passed this rock like, what, 7 times!

She became increasingly frustrated. She was very sick of passing through the rock that she gave it a very hard kick. The kick was so hard that she jumped around in sheer pain. And apparently, the kick was so hard that it waked the "rock" up. From under the rock appeared four turtle legs with rock-hard, jagged exteriors, raising the rock even higher than before. A head slowly peered out, showing the face of an angry turtle who was disturbed during its time of sleep. It let out a loud, cracking hiss and began to move towards the panicking Eliza, who, with such speed and agility, began to run westward. The gargantuan terrapin followed suit.

Eliza's heart was pounding. She needed to stay away from this threat if she were to talk to the evil scientist in the building. The turtle was sharply behind her, despite the fact that turtles are somewhat slow. Its large, beady eyes were sharply set on her, ready to flatten her with its rock-hard shell. Its feet shook the very earth they stepped on, filled with great determination to eliminate the one who disturbed its deep slumber. As the chase went on, Eliza recognized the building's austerity up ahead, and realized that she needs to get into the building and get rid of the cranky turtle set on killing her.

And she had hatched the perfect plan.

The scientist was on the first floor, inspecting the woman with the living hair. Her eyes concentrated on the floor, averting the eyes of the devil in front of her.

"You don't like me? Well, I don't like you. You're not even worth banging, anyways."

While he was inspecting her, he hears loud footsteps. As time passed by, the footsteps became louder and louder. The scientist looks eastward, his eyes widening as the sound becomes much louder. The wall is a long walk ahead, and the experiments near the wall are dead. When the noise suddenly stopped, he grinned.

"Here comes the fuss."

A very angry turtle crashes into the building. It stops first, and then spots the lone scientist, who is merely looking at the specimen. The terrapin redirects its anger to the man up ahead and then charges at him with full force. The man stands still, waiting for his chance.

Then, he saw it.

"Draw!"

He quickly got from his coat pocket a gun. He shoots a needle at the oncoming threat, which lands squarely into its head. The turtle merely continues charging as if nothing happened, but soon, weird things started happening to it. Its head started to wildly deform, as if it was filled with boiling water. Its legs followed suit, and soon, its whole body started to get even more bloated as it deformed. Then, the monstrosity suddenly stops in its tracks, letting out a loud squeal, as if it was in need of help. Immediately afterwards, it explodes, leaving organs flying and blood splattering all over the place. The shell just fell into the floor with a loud thud, cracking the surface it fell on.

The madman, smirking, starts to inspect the shell. He went near it, feeling it with his hands. Then, he observes that its shadow had an uneven shape. He looks at it some more, and he observes that something moved on the rock. Before he even had the chance to look back at it, however, an unknown force came falling down on his back, stealing his gun in the process.

"...why!? Why would you do this to hundreds of innocent people!?"

He broke into a twisted cachinnation of sorts. Eliza slammed his head to the wall, the man still cackling mockingly.

"Innocent!? INNOCENT!? I laugh at the thought. No human is ever innocent. They all deserve to die! And what better way to hit two birds with one stone than this? I get to torment humans AND help a nation with the same perspective annihilate a bunch of other nations!" He immediately let out boisterous guffaws, as if mocking her.

His laughter filled Eliza with such anger that she repeatedly slammed the madman to the wall. Her hatred for him grew with each thud, just as his laughter diminished with each. The turtle merely watched her pour her emotions out.

Then, a sharp stick pressed against Eliza's left temple. It still smelled of honey mixed with ground herbs, though it was much weaker.

"Let him go."

Eliza didn't want to believe it. She wanted to look, just to make sure, but she was too afraid.

"I said let him go."

Her grip, cold and shivering, slowly loosened, and soon, the scientist's face plummeted into the ground.

"That was very good of you, Eliza."

She slowly turned her head to her side. Her assumptions were right. He was the same 7'6" man she saw earlier, albeit now clothed in scientific fashion.

"Adam."

"It's just business, Eliza. It was always for business."

He fishes out a remote control from his coat pocket.

"Do you still remember rule number two?"

Number two: Don't even try to come back here. If ever even a single hair comes into my building, I won't hesitate to activate the nanite. Would you like to die? I'm pretty sure you don't want to die.

"You were just toying with me."

"Eliza... there is so much you already knew... and so much you need to learn..."

He pressed a button in the remote.

"This experiment is finished."

Eliza immediately began to convulse like an epileptic. She sweats torrents of bodily fluids, and soon, tachypnea settled in. All her arteries and veins bulged through her skin as the blood within her circulatory system travelled at a much faster rate than before.

"How do you feel?"

As warm blood coursed quickly through her veins, she started to become more acutely aware of everything around her. Her vision became much sharper, and she felt much stronger than before.

"I feel... great."

Eliza jolted back to life, firmly holding the gun she has. She pressed the gun against the helpless madman's head and pulled the trigger. She stood up and backed away from both of them, with Adam backing away opposite her. Soon, the whole body of the scientist exploded into a sea of blood and organs, filling the corridor with a soup-like combination of blood and body parts.

Both of them quickly turned their guns against each other. A drop of sweat slid against Adam's cheek as he observed Eliza, her body glistening with sweat. Her face was that of determination, a determination so resolute that she is willing to risk her own life because of what she has resolved to do.

"Eliza. I made you a bed. Why would you shoot me? I even gave you some weird-ass grapes."

"Isn't being a pawn in your grand scheme enough of a reason!?"

"Well, I suppose there's that, but it was just an experiment."

"Yeah, sure, that's what you told to the other people who died because of being your experiments."

"Those people are prisoners. We always use prisoners as test subjects who will be killed no matter what the outcome."

"They're still dead."

"But you're not dead. At least, not yet. Give me the remote and your gun, Eliza, and we'll all be okay."

A drop of sweat traveled from Eliza's shoulder. It dropped against her breast and settled on her nipple, which is hardened by the biting cold of the facility. The temperature does not affect the couple's heated argument, however. Neither does it affect Eliza's desire to accomplish her goal.

"Why do you need it?"

"Well..."

There are many buttons on both remotes. However, the markings are different. Adam's remote was marked with "Virus Control", and the madman's was marked with "Test Subject Control".

"I think I already know the reason, Adam."

"Give it to me or I will take it myself."

"Alright then, take it. Come on, take it, just like you have taken the lives of many people."

"Do you think we're much more devious than the ones who funded this?"

Eliza's left brow rose up. The sweat on her nipple finally dropped to the floor, splatting hard against it.

"The USA hatched a secret plan to manufacture biological weapons. They knew Russia was already doing it, so they needed to follow suit. Unfortunately, before we could finish our research, Russia unleashed their freaks of nature into the streets of America. They ravaged the nation, forcing the two to fight. It was an all-out war, spanning the whole country. Now, America needs a miracle. And whether that miracle will happen or not lies on you."

War!? Yes, war. A petty war for resources and supremacy. She was torn between two extremes now: to save a building of test subjects, or to save a whole nation of helpless humans?

"I need that remote, Eliza. Give it."

She was too lost in thought to hear him. The government of USA is the one who authorized this mess. They organized it so that they can defeat Russia. Now, their fates rely on her.

"Adam? Why did they make this up?"

"To win the war."

"And they rely on me now?"

"Yes."

"Well, with this act, I will save the whole world."

She extends her hand to her, as if motioning him to get the remote.

"I knew you'd see it my way, Eliza."

"Your way? No. This is my way."

She pressed a button on the remote. All the doors of the building immediately opened up, freeing everyone trapped in their cell. Every test subject on the first floor manages to get out, setting their eyes upon Adam.

"I figured I'd triple, quadruple, or even quintuple my chances by unleashing the ultimate biological army unto the world."

"You fool!"

Adam then felt hair creeping up against his neck. Before the danger could even register into his brain, he was strangled by the woman's long, black locks of hair. Soon, the biped dog revealed itself in front of him and spewed a noxious gas into his head. He attempted to scream in pain, the gas melting away his face. He couldn't, for he was being choked by the gorgon woman. The dog then remembers he is hungry. As if it was a ball, the dog bit the man's head. He chewed and chewed on it until it was disfigured and cannot be recognized. As his last seconds of consciousness slip away, he gives Eliza the finger.

Then, everything went black.

Eliza is ecstatic that she finally got rid of her tormentors. She was feeling euphoric about it for many minutes, until she realizes that it isn't euphoria she is feeling. Her vision starts to blur dramatically, and her blood vessels begin to bulge out even more. More torrents of sweat start to drop from her body, and soon, she was on the brink of losing consciousness.

As this all happens, she starts to hear something faint. It sounded like a three-syllable chant that a massive audience was screaming out. Slowly, she lapses out of consciousness, and as the seconds go by, she realizes what they are chanting.

"Eliza! Eliza! Eliza! Eliza!"

She smiles. She closes her eyes, ready to say goodbye.

"At last, I have done it."
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Title: Into the Wild
Word Count: 4498