Mirage Islands

Word Count: 1,998 words

Legend tells of a mysterious region where islands appear and disappear overnight. This region houses a great treasure, one that would "revolutionize civilization" as is stated by the legend. Its exact location is unknown; all that is known about it is that it is in the middle of the vast Pacific Ocean. All those who tried to explore the area failed to even find it. Despite all our advances in technology, they could never pinpoint such a place. The ocean was simply empty, devoid of any islands in the midst of it. The legend was shoved aside as just another myth, one that may be entertaining for a fictional tale but holds no significance to the scientific community. One man however, firmly believed that this legend held some truth, and he was determined to find this "great treasure"...

Dr. Henry Bauval, a French archeologist who was born in Belgium, France and later moved to Buckinghamshire, England, saw more truth to this legend. He believed that this was no fairy tale, but the remnants of an old civilization, their lost, forgotten legacy. And if he were to uncover it, he would be regarded as the hero of the 21st century. He would be put alongside all the great men in history. With these great thoughts in mind, he quickly started work on this great mystery.
This legend was originally found in an old temple in Giza, Egypt inscribed on the ceiling. Translated, it read:

"A great treasure is hidden beneath the surface dwellers. In the center of the peaceful sea, there lies the great treasure and mystery of all. Only when approached shall the treasure appear."

Researchers discovered that the "peaceful sea" referred to here, is what we call the Pacific Ocean. They searched far and wide with planes, ships and everything, but they never found it.

Knowing how accurate such ancient civilizations were, Dr. Henry guessed that this treasure was in dead center of the Pacific Ocean. And that it would only be possible to find it if approached by ship, and not by planes. The ocean was so vast that finding such a treasure was like finding a needle in several stacks of hay which is the reason no one stumbled upon on it before. However having a specified path to take, Dr. Henry was sure he would find it.

He requested funding for a ship and crew and despite the amount of negative criticism he received, his request was accepted. He was to go on the final voyage for exploring such a myth. And so he set off on a two month journey, confident that this quest will greatly reward him.
Four months later however, the ship returned safely. But it was missing something; Dr. Henry Bauval...

The journey didn't start off too well. A large storm passed, causing some damage to the ship as well as knocking a crew member off the ship, he was quickly recovered however. The captain and the crew took this as a sign that this journey wouldn't end well. However Henry's burning passion to uncover this mystery never dimmed one bit.

The days passed, and Henry awaited his great bounty. Finally after two months, the ship arrived exactly at the center of the Pacific Ocean.

"We're here!" shouted the captain as he was checking the map, making sure that they were in the right place. Everyone came running, expecting to see something mystical only to be disappointed to find water. Water as far as the eye can see, stretching over the horizon all around the ship.
"Great...we came all the way here for nothing," one man said sadly. "Ah man," groaned another. Silence soon followed as everyone waited for Henry to say something, but he was silent, staring off at the ocean with his hand stroking his chin.

"Well then, we'd better head back," said the captain in a disappointed tone of voice, breaking silence.

"Wait, Look!" Henry shouted rather excitedly as he pointed at a blade of grass floating on the water that seemed to come out of no where. The crew quickly looked, amazed at where this could have came from. It was clearly not a water plant. It was a leaf, just like any other on land.

"Move the ship forward!" Henry ordered. They quickly went forward, and before each and every man on the ship's eyes, an island began to emerge from the water. They couldn't believe their own eyes, and yet it was right there, still surfacing. The crew started cheering and congratulating Henry, but he had no time for that, he quickly grabbed a rope and landed on the island followed by the rest of the crew.

The island continued to reveal more and more of itself and it was huge indeed. The island was filled with grass, palm trees and lots of different plants. It was as if it had been on the surface for years! This was truly a magical experience. Henry quickly ventured through the island followed by the crew. He was mesmerized by all the strange and new species of plants on the island. As he started taking samples of the plants, the rest of the crew started exploring more of the island.
Before long, they had gone through the whole island, but no treasure was found. There was obviously a bigger mystery to this whole thing, and Henry was determined to uncover it. They decided to sleep on the ship that night and continue exploration in the morning.

The next day, Henry was awoken by the loud noise and bickering of the crew, as he got up on the deck of the ship to look at the island again, he was shocked to see that it wasn't there! Instead there were six other small islands about 100 meters in diameter. They formed a sort of X shape. And as we all know, X marks the spot. And so Henry and few men went to the spot where the two lines of islands intersected as the others continued exploration.

When they arrived there they were greeted by a strange sight. A small area of water was in front of them, in it was, spelt with stones, "Step forth, do not fear" in Latin. One of the men bent down and tried to move the stones but they were immovable. This was no joke, it was the real deal. Henry stepped forward, and immediately dropped down into the water as if pulled by something. The rest reluctantly followed...

They landed in a very strange place; it was as if they were walking on the sea bed, except they could breathe normally. They weren't sure if this was merely an illusion or if they really were on the sea bed. Fish of all kinds swam all around them, the 'air' they breathed had quite an odd sensation. They could not swim freely, they moved as if they were on land, yet their clothes and hands felt wet. They did not know how they were going to get back, so they moved forward exploring the area.

After a couple of minutes of walking, they came across a large sleeping bird. It quickly woke up and stood before them. The bird was ten feet tall, and the length from one wing to the other was over 25 feet. With a flap from its wings, all the men that were with Henry disappeared, and only he was left. The bird turned around and crouched, as if signaling to Henry to ride. Hesitatingly, he got on top and the bird spread its huge wings and took off!

The bird flew at such an incredible speed that Henry was having a hard time holding on. It flew out of this watery area and up into the sky. The journey was a short one; the bird dropped off Henry onto the clouds and flew away. Recovering from the shock of what had just happened; he got up, and looked around to find himself standing in the sky atop the clouds!

He truly couldn't believe himself then, it took him a while to accept the fact that he truly was in the sky. Once he did, he continued moving on.

The clouds he was walking on felt as solid as the ground. He couldn't see how high up he was, as the clouds stretched forever. He could not feel any change in atmospheric pressure or short of breath, yet he clearly saw that bird take him up into the sky! Pondering such matters, he continued walking.

After walking for about an hour, the clouds still remained endless. However he spotted a faint object in the distance. He swiftly ran to find out what it was and to his delight, it was a big treasure chest! The moment he put his hands on that chest he found himself back on the first island!

Not wanting to wait another minute, he quickly opened the chest. Inside it was a map, and a paper. The map was a world map, it was just like the modern day ones, except the continents were all shifted upwards. He opened the paper, on it written, translated was:

Congratulations brave explorer, the fact that you are reading this proves that you are indeed worthy of such a grand prize. We have hidden and protected this knowledge, for this knowledge remains safe no matter what happens to the Earth. Civilizations rise and fall, and no sooner had they reached their pinnacle of advancement do they get wiped out entirely. Only few men survive such incidents, and few of the land does as well. Knowing this, we were able to construct great monuments that will forever remain in our stead. We must warn this civilization however, that a great cataclysmic event draws nearer. This civilization must protect itself, or the cycle shall repeat once more. It occurs every 49,000 years; the entire Earth's curst shifts, destroying all that is on top of it. Beware...

Henry was in complete awe after reading this. The world map that was in there represented what the world looked like over 49,000 years ago, before this cataclysmic event occurred. He did not know when it would happen again, but he was sure he'd be able to uncover it, researching this new theory. He recalled that one man proposed such a similar theory some time ago; Charles Hapgood's theory of crustal displacement. This theory fit in very well with what this ancient civilization says. Before this moment he thought it was absurd that the entire crust of the earth could shift all together, but after what he had experienced, he believed it to be the truth.

He got so caught up in what he had been reading that he didn't even realize that the ship and the crew were gone! He quickly looked around, and found the ship far away, leaving! They thought he was dead, and left the strange islands fearing the loss of more men. Henry could not believe what had just happened. He was now, stranded on a strange island with no way of getting back, and he held a great revelation that would change the world as we know it, that would save this civilization, that would allow us further advancement without being wiped out, and another civilization taking our place, only for the same thing to happen and the cycle to continue.

He could not control his emotions and broke down in tears. In a moment of madness he jumped into the ocean, trying to swim back to shore only to snap out of it too late, he tried to get back, but the island had disappeared! He was now in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, stranded, doomed...

A truly a sad end to such a brave explorer, the great secret shall remain a secret and the cycle shall continue until humans learn to accept change; to accept this revolutionary theory, and protect their great civilization.

Part 1

It's there.

The other Island with the beacon- I just know it's there.

The Council says I'm insane for thinking that there's another Island only about a mile away from ours. My friends and family tell me that it's not there while I'm looking right at it. It exists. I'm not crazy; they're all just in denial.

It just came out of the water one day. I was combing the beaches one morning for decorative shells that my wife may have liked for jewelry, and the Island came straight up out of the water. The beacon of Light shot through the surface before any land or vegetation was visible, reaching beyond the clouds. As the Island ascended, it looked like the Light was pulling the land from the bottom of the ocean. It was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I ran for my wife and brought her to see the new Island, but she said that there was no Island; there was only the sea that isolated our small island village from the rest of the world. I was stunned. That beacon should have been visible from miles away. I tried to convince her, but she only became frightened. I gave up trying to convince her and I ran into the village, gathering other people who would believe me and see what was plainly visible.
But no one else could see it.
They all looked, and none of them acknowledged the glaring Light and the way it went up into the heavens. "Surely, you do not see any island out in the water; you are only joking about it", they said. I would not lie and say I was only joking. I insisted that I was as serious as death. I know what I saw, and I swear upon every precious thing that ever has been or will be that the Island exists.

The beacon's Light was even more brilliant that night as I tried to sleep. "You're just tired", they said. "Get some rest", they said. But the Light from the beacon went straight through my closed eyelids. I did not sleep for 3 days before I collapsed of exhaustion. When I awoke, the first thing I saw was my wife's face, and behind her was the beacon. The Light appeared to be coming straight out of her skull, and I was soon fixated on the beacon, insisting that it was there. She touched my face with her hand, with a tear rolling down her bronze cheek. I grabbed her wrist, set it aside, and sat up to watch the Light while she quietly wept.

My wife took our child and left to live with her parents on the other side of the village. She thought that I would harm our child, or some other preposterous or crazy thoughts. She was terrified of me, and so was most of the village. I became an outcast, a "mad rambler" who talked only of the Island and the Light it emitted. People soon took the long way around the village just to avoid walking past my home, the way people will slow their steps and keep their distance from what they perceive as a mad dog. That's what they thought of me, a "mad dog". Of course, I know that I am not insane. How could I possibly be the insane one, when I'm the only one who can see the Island? They're the ones who display signs of madness, not me.
My home soon fell into disrepair, as the harsh island weather demands that one constantly tend to their dwelling. I demolished the side of my house that faced the Island's Light. Even over the trees of the lush tropical vegetation that surrounded our village, the Light shone into the sky infinitely. I had no time to spend on something as trivial as home upkeep. I was far too busy trying to show other people what only I could see, rushing up to them in the road and pointing them in the direction of the Light. All of them denied seeing anything. They all struggled out of my grasp and stumbled away from me, confused and afraid. Soon, I was imprisoned by order of the Council.

They considered me a danger to the welfare of the rest of the island. The Council is nothing more than a group of elderly men from the village who think that their sheer age gives them the right to make law. As if knowledge and wisdom can be measured by wrinkles and boils and lost teeth. They were nothing but crazy, senile old men. Any intelligent person could have seen that the only reason that the Council even existed was to give those old creatures a reason to lift their decrepit bodies from their beds and endure the relentless aches and pains that constantly wracked their crumbling bodies. The Council members could barely see twenty yards in front of their faces; how could they possibly tell me that the Island did not exist?

For my trial and hearing, I was brought to the village square and set in front of the Council as they stood behind a podium, and the rest of the village flanked the square on all sides, leaving me in the middle, all alone. Not even my wife came to join me as I stood there. I tried to show the Council proof of the Island and the Light, but of course, none could see it. Fools, all of them. Hopeless, ignorant fools. I was cast out of the village with only my clothes and a few belongings. No one wept. No one objected. No one opposed the ruling. They all just looked down and shook their heads, in pity and disappointment- disappointment in me for seeing what no one else could. I did not object. I decided that if no one else would admit that the Island was real, then I would be blessed to be the sole admirer of the Island. No one else would know my joy and fulfillment that came from the Island and the Light. I decided that I was not being punished, but rather, I was being rewarded for staying true to the Island. And my reward was being freed from the dark, hollow faces of the doubtful and simpleminded villagers. None of them were worthy of knowing the pristine wonder of the Island. I was the only one.

I made my new home on the edge of the island closest to the new Island, so that I could enjoy it even more. I made a small hut from logs, vines and broad leaves that faced the Light. For food, I caught crabs that come onto the shore. I ate them raw, so as not to waste valuable time that could be used to admire the Light.
With every passing day and night, the beacon became even more intoxicating. I longed to be one with the Light. I began carving images of the Island into my bare flesh and rubbing harsh sand into the wounds, causing raised, pronounced scars of the Island. The pain of the tearing flesh, when intermingled with the ecstasy of being closer to oneness with the Island, would cause my spine to shiver and my eyes to roll back as saliva slowly fell from my lazy grin into my unkempt beard.
My hut soon became more of a shrine than a dwelling. Etchings of the Island decorated the wooden supports, and the leaf canopy above had an oblong hole in it so that I could lean back in the hut and see the beacon while lying down. I collected anything that reminded me of the beacon- brightly colored shells, translucent rocks, the scales of Light-colored fish.

Part 2

I wanted nothing more than to somehow reach the Island. I would have done literally anything to be there. I would sever any body part, murder any innocent, blaspheme any god, and defile any grave if it would get me closer to the Island. But I couldn't get there. I could barely swim. I attempted to make several rafts, but none of them lasted in the waters for more than a few moments before either sinking or breaking apart. As I fell from my rafts into the salty water, my eyes burned- not for the harshness of the water, but out of frustration that I could not physically reach the Island. I grew jealous of the fish in the sea, jealous that they could easily swim to the Island that I could not reach. I began catching fish in a net I made of vines and mutilating them in an envious rage. It simply was not fair. They squandered their ability to reach the Island while I languished on this repugnant, pitiful excuse for an islet. They mocked me by coming so close to the wretched shores I wasted my life on. If they didn't want to use their fins to get them to the Island (which would be the only logical use for fins), they were blemishes on the sea. Killing them was the only fair thing to do, fair to the Island that the fish foolishly chose not to live around. The fish were no better than the people in the village. They couldn't see the beauty of the Light, and that made them abominations.
I decided that if I could not reach the true Island, I would have to find some other way to satisfy my need to be accepted by the Island as a disciple, the lone acolyte of the heavenly Light. I soon began my newest project: to build a replica of the Island in my hut. I dug a deep "O" shape in the center of the sand, and raised the center pillar of sand higher than the foundation. I lined the hole with large leaves and finely packed soil, and filled it with water. The packed soil and vegetation minimized water loss. I gathered plants, small rocks, and anything else I could use to imitate the Island. After days of labor, I placed a large crystal in the center of my tiny Island, and to my surprise and immense joy, a tiny beacon of Light rose out of my replica. I had made a tiny Island, an Island all my own. I fell into ecstasy. My knees buckled and I fell to the sand, my entire body quaking and my dry tongue hanging out of my mouth until I lost consciousness.

From this point on, my life was devoted to the upkeep of my tiny Island. I constantly checked the water levels, repaired erosion, replaced dying vegetation and more. I constructed a large wall around my hut, blocking everything but my view of the true Island, to help keep anything from intruding on my shrine. Each day, I would take a thorn from the rough island vegetation and prick myself, dripping my blood into the water of my Island. I was closer to being one with the Island than ever before. As I grew more devoted to the tiny Island, I gradually gave it more of my blood. Eventually, I was slashing myself with shells nightly and letting blood into the water, making it a crimson hue. I can't even begin to communicate the feelings of ecstasy I felt while giving my blood to the Island. It was as if I had left my own body and all I could feel was bliss as my blood pooled into the little Island I had made.
Soon, birds began to visit me. They were from the Island, I'm positive. These birds were nothing like the ones on the island I lived on. The birds were translucent and emitted the same sort of Light as the Island's beacon. They flocked to me, and began to peck at my flesh. I offered myself to them graciously. They took small chunks of my flesh, and flew off towards the Light. I was even closer with the Island now. Nothing could stop me from coming even closer to joining with the Island.

One night, to my surprise, I heard my wife's voice. She was looking for me. I revealed myself, scarred, bloody and filthy to the point that my skin seemed to belong to a much darker species of human. When she saw me, she gasped and turned white. After a moment, she came to me, begging me to come to my senses and leave the Island and the beacon behind. I ignored her, and dragged her to my shrine. I pointed a shaking finger at my creation, and said "Look what I have made! An exact replica of the Island, beacon and all!" She stared blankly at my treasure, then turned to me and said that she saw no beacon or Island, but only a mound of dirt and leaves. "You are losing your mind!" she screamed. "You need to forget about that stupid Light that isn't real and come back to the way things were!" I grew furious.
"Do you not understand the beauty and perfection I have created?" I shouted.
"This is not beauty," she screamed, "this is driving you mad! And I must put an end to this!" With that, she stomped my beautiful replica of the most beautiful thing in a fit of madness. I was consumed with rage.
I grabbed her by the throat, and pulled her closer to the wreckage of the tiny Island, holding her under the bloody water. She sputtered, choked and fought, but to no avail. I pulled her back by the hair, and took her to the shore. "Do you still not see the Island and the beacon, woman? Can you not tell that it is the most beautiful thing in all of creation?" She choked under my grasp on her throat. "I-I see it quite well now, love", she croaked. "You are right about everything, now please let me go".

She was lying to me. She saw nothing. She was only afraid of me. "You lie, woman, and you see nothing", I whispered into her ear. "And since you cannot see the most beautiful thing of all, you do not deserve to see anything". With that, I pressed my thumbs into her eye sockets, crushing her eyes into her skull. Her screams pierced the night, and I squeezed her trachea with both hands until I crushed it and she went limp. I threw her into the ocean, careful not to send her towards the Island. She did not deserve to witness such beauty, even in death.

As I returned to my hut to tend to my ruined shrine, I noticed that the night sky was becoming brighter. I turned around, and to my eternal joy, I saw the beacon of the Island expanding and becoming even brighter. It was changing from a vertical beacon into a blooming, all encompassing hemisphere of pure Light. I rushed out into the shallow water so that the Light would reach me more quickly. I spread my arms and extended my bloody hands as far as I could, ready to embrace the Light. Finally, it took me. I was bathed in the glory of the bright Island. The Light on my skin at once burned and soothed, sending my body's senses into utter confusion. I smiled through it all, knowing that I was finally one with the Light.

I could not stop smiling.

Meager Land

Jenna squeezed her eyelids shut. For what seemed like a first, nature was aiding the decomposition of her poetic ability. It broke away at her potential, hammering away at it with each second's stroke. She yearned immensely for her senses and memory to leave her, to leave her alone and secluded in unrecognizable blackness. Unsurprisingly, neither of them moved.

She slowly opened her eyes, accepting the view of the ocean before her. Basking under a full, white moon, the ocean's opaque surface radiated stunningly. Normally, this was a welcome, inspirational sight for Jenna, but as she groped for a suitable simile to preserve the moment, the only image she could manifest was that of her boyfriend's acrid sweat as it glistened on his pallid skin. As thoughts naturally triggered one another, Jenna couldn't help but sour the ocean's smell as she likened it to Ted's pungent body odor. Involuntarily, she released a concise retching sound.

Relieved by this interruption, Ted stopped rowing their small, peeling-white boat and rested his flabby arms on his knees. "You okay, honey?" he wheezed. He pulled a raspy breath through his massive jowls and clasped a thick palm on Jenna's tiny knee. The boat rocked violently in response.

As the two sat facing each other, inches apart, Jenna tried courageously to not connect the feeling of Ted's sweaty palm against her knee to the feeling of the salty water trickling against her hand. As she predicted, she failed. She shivered and inwardly damned her brain.

"Honey?"

"I'm fine," she replied quickly, perhaps too loudly. Seeing Ted's doubtful grimace, she flashed a small smirk and picked up her boyfriend's large hand from her knee with both of her hands. "I'm fine; just got sick for a moment."

Ted continued to watch her skeptically, his beady black eyes imperceptible in the dark. However, judging from a twitch of his lips, Jenna knew he was working on some snarky comment in his head. She acted first.

"So...you still haven't told me yet: Where are we going? From the looks of it-" she exaggeratedly glanced behind her at the suburbanized shore (about a mile away by her judgment) and then back at Ted, "-you'll die of a heart attack if we go any farther."

"Oh, real nice, Jen. I think I-"

"I mean, I don't even have my cell phone on me! You could literally die out here if you row too much. What will I do if that-"

"The place is just behind us, Jen," Ted boomed, attempting to project a low voice but managing only to accentuate his whiney one.

Jenna raised an eyebrow and leaned over to peer past the bulky mass of her boyfriend. "Um, you're taking me to the open sea?"

He chuckled loudly. "No, look closer. You remember those islands they always have in the comics? You know, the tiny ones with the single palm tree?" He grinned wildly. "I found one."

Jenna guffawed unattractively at this and then guffawed once more when she recognized a thin dark figure behind Ted. It was nearly invisible against the dark sky, but it was there: a single tree. She plopped back onto her seat. "So...you're taking me to a dinky island? What for? To admire your exploring skills? To be able to say I was on the island?"

Ted exhaled harshly. He tried to lean back, nearly tipped the boat, and decided to remain slouched forward. "It's a nice, quiet place," he sighed, somewhat dejectedly. "I thought you might like just spending time there with me."

Body odor and flab withstanding, Jenna-falling for forces only sensible to her-melted and spiraled into a blushing, stumbling mess: "Of course I want to do that! I...uh...was just joking. You know that!" Ted maintained the pitiful look. "Hey...c'mon, maybe I could even use this for...uh...huh..." she cringed, "for a poem."

Her boyfriend's head perked up. "Really?"

She chewed her lower lip. "...Really."

He flashed his awkward grin and suddenly took hold of the oars. "Okay! Let's head off before your inspiration goes away then!" He dipped the oars into the water.

"Um, Ted?" Jenna said quietly, wincing slightly.

"Uh-huh?" he huffed barely, exerting what little mental and physical strength he held on rowing.

"Can I row instead?"

He stopped. "What? Why?"

Because every time your flabby arms slap against your man-boobs, dear, I think of the waves licking up against the boat. You're defiling the ocean, Ted; it's awful. She smiled warmly. "I want to row a bit; you never let me."

He hesitated, his fatigue and sense of chivalry clashing between his brain's rusted cogs. Noticing this conflict in his glazed stare, Jenna stood up unsteadily, prompting Ted to succumb to his fatigue. After some brainstorming, team balancing, and a few close spills, the two managed to take the other's seat. With her mind more at ease, Jenna began to row.

The tired boat lurched at a haphazard pace toward the island, accompanied only by the consistent beat of Jenna's strained groans. As Ted's own agonized breathing calmed, he began to notice his girlfriend's struggle. "You sure you got that, honey?"

She laughed, exasperated, but continued rowing. "Sure as shi-"

A violent force suddenly collided against the underside of the boat. Jenna yelped shrilly as the strength of the blow tipped her half of the boat into the air and nearly sent her toppling into Ted. Hanging only by the oars, she held on while Ted comically twirled his arms to save himself from tumbling backwards. They landed painfully and unsteadily back in their seats as the boat crashed back down onto the water and settled.

"What the fuck was that?" Ted screamed, eyeing the water around the boat suspiciously. He didn't dare stick his head over the sides of the boat. Jenna watched her boyfriend nervously, her hands still clenched tightly to the oars.

The water rippled intensely around their wooden vessel. As most of the disturbance settled, the two waited anxiously, attempting to peer past the black, undulating surface of the water. Only a path of ripples danced before them, weaving around and under the boat in intricate patterns. Jenna strained to hear the anomaly, but the blood pumped so violently in her ears that she could barely even hear her own breathing. Smothered by the ocean's salty stench, her senses weakened even further.

Ted's frightened eyes met hers. He appeared to struggle with his words, managing only to release several, constricted breaths and then sputtering, "M-maybe it was just a wave." His eyes glanced to the moving ripples, and as he watched, the blood drained from his face.

"Shit," he whispered. "Shit, shit, shit." He flashed his head toward Jenna. "Row."

The middle of the boat shattered before the oars could touch water again. Thick splinters and larger shards of wood flew up and away from the center, glancing off of Jenna and Ted, leaving shallow cuts on their bodies. As the two lovers fell away from each other on their separate halves of the boat, they screamed as a serpentine monster completed its jump and crashed back into the water.

Both spilled into the ocean unprepared. They tumbled into the water, thrashing mindlessly until an instinctual drive prompted them to swim toward the surface. Helped by his body mass, Ted surfaced first, followed soon after by Jenna. As they struggled to keep afloat, their lungs and limbs burned intensely, but they soon began swimming desperately toward the small island, internally sharing an understanding that the land held their only chance.

It took only seconds for Ted to fall behind, allowing the distance between Jenna and him to extend about ten feet. As he fought to maintain his awkward paddle, he gasped in between strokes, "Jen-please-help."

Meager Land Part 2

Against all innate reason, she reluctantly slowed and turned, finding that her boyfriend was doing little more than just splash and create waves. As her legs sank while treading water, her feet brushed against a soft, grainy surface. She gasped and looked behind her, finally noticing the island was no more than twenty or thirty feet ahead of her. She started swimming slowly toward it again, calling as she stroked, "C'mon! You're close; hurry!"

He yelped tiredly. "No-please-help me!"

She groaned but continued. "You have to hurry, Ted!"

His response came as a sob. "It's-swimming near me!"

"What?" Jenna shifted to face him just as she was able to stand with her shoulders above the water. Ted had barely moved since she had last looked, and she noticed with anguish that even half of the boat had managed to float closer to the island than he. Yet, she could not force herself to go back out. Backing up tentatively, she called emptily again, "Hurry! C'mon, Ted!"

She could hear him crying, and once she saw the scaly creature's long body arch above the water near him, she began crying too.

"C'mon!" she screamed, the water now at her chest. He splashed a foot closer. "Come on," she sobbed, her entire upper-body now free. He came another two feet.

"Come on," she whispered. She stopped moving. She was in only to her knees.

There was a great splash. Caught before he could yell, Ted was violently forced underneath the water by his feet, disappearing entirely. Jenna wailed as a roiling, splattering, misshapen circle of waves replaced Ted. Then, as if instantly, the surface flattened and only rippled. Jenna held her breath.

Nothing came up, not blood, not a body, not even clothing.

Jenna kept still. Through a bleary film, she stared at the water remorsefully, trembling subtly despite the night's muggy embrace. As the threat registered again in her consciousness, she painfully exhaled-releasing a bark-like sob-before staggering out of the water and fully onto the small island's sandy ground.

The island was beanlike in shape, too thick and too short to be considered a crescent. Around noon, the island would have been revealed in its full glory: 16 feet long and 11 wide. But as Jenna shivered at the other 12 o'clock, the tide had eaten away at the island's shores, leaving it nearly half as wide and three-quarters as long. Sharing room with the slender palm tree, Jenna could barely remain on dry land.

She stood, dripping wet, her arms wrapped tightly around her thin frame. Emotions danced wildly within her head, exploding into stanzas, rhymes, and free verse, but unable to take any tangible form on her face. Although she hated it, the sporadic bursts of poetry beautified the past events and desensitized her to them for the most part. For the most part.

She needed a sign of him. Despite all evidence, she could not confirm her boyfriend's death. She needed to see a limb to prove he wasn't alive; she needed to see blood to prove he wasn't still struggling; she needed to see his tattered clothing to know it was over; she needed something so she could finally cry. Dangling from an unfinished climax, she suffered in her unknowing and imagery.

"Damn you!" she suddenly screeched, tiptoeing dangerously toward the edge of the island. She screamed again, a contemptuous, tearless scream that pulsed so violently through her body that it carried her feet just inside the water.

The monster rocketed out of the ocean, bulleting directly toward Jenna. With a shriek, she stumbled and then toppled backwards. The creature slammed against the shallow water inches from her feet, writhing and snapping its horrible jaws fiercely. It neither growled nor roared, but the crunch of its jaws compensated for its muteness. Jenna, still screaming mercilessly, lunged backward and slid up against the palm tree.

There was nothing poetic about her assailant. It was the color of shit. Its scales-a melding of abnormally shaped and sized plates-seemed to glisten with a similar, revolting texture. Excluding its four main paw-like fins, deformed representations of fins riddled its sides and back. Its tail, however, remained naked, a grotesque, fleshy lump. The closest animal the monster could have compared to was a lungfish, a horrible, bus-long lungfish. Its disfigured head alone-dominated by its unnaturally flexible jaws-were massive enough to swallow an obese man (as it had already demonstrated).

Although a mere two feet away its prey, the monster ceased its thrashing and remained still. Its ragged, fleshy gills pulsated as its black eyes, situated peculiarly atop its head, swiveled and observed Jenna. Then, as brutally as it had entered, it whipped its body back into the water. Its tattered crest soon dipped entirely under the surface, leaving only the ripples to hint at its direction.

Jenna had never stopped screaming. While she had focused her shattering voice against the beast when it had been visible, now she cried toward the suburban shores across the ocean. "Help!" she screamed, clinging steadfastly to the tree. "For fuck's sake, help!"

Her voice traveled, but the surf ate it up before it could reach the other shore. Even if a few traces of her voice passed the mile distance, they were drowned by the crushing speakers of an early summer party. As her voice cracked and dried, Jenna steadily began to understand her situation and eventually stopped screaming entirely.

She had no cell phone, no fire, no light, and five hours until sunrise. Staring blindly into the ocean, she sighed weakly.

The water roared in response. Before Jenna could adequately react, the hideous lungfish tore up through the water and crashed upon her island's shore, a foot from her own feet. The monster's jaws began snapping again, and she began screaming again. Reflexively, she pounced on the palm tree as the creature awkwardly lunged to where she had stood.

Only the monster's slimy lips were able to brush against the bottom of Jenna's short jeans as it bit madly. Its multiple rows of scale-like teeth (each the size of Jenna's clenched palm) raked the dry bark off the palm tree's base. Neither knowing how to climb up the straight tree nor wielding the physical build to climb, Jenna hugged her arms and legs around the trunk tightly and mournfully hoped for the best.

Fortunately, the monster's body could not arch adequately to reach up to her. After seizing irately in what seemed to be frustration, the monster ceased attacking the tree and squirmed off the island. As its body slithered off and into the water, its tail came crashing down upon the surface, sending both a jarring boom through Jenna's nerves and a spray of water against her soaked back.

Her grip around the tree slipped, sending her sprawling against the ground. Her muscles protested fiercely against movement, but she determinedly rolled to her hands and knees and crawled the two feet to the other side of the island. Collapsing against the palm, she struggled to take in air. With no material with which to work, the poet succumbed to instincts, relinquishing any intricate plans for mindless, evasive maneuvers instead.

Jenna heard a splash. Detachedly, she leapt to the side as the creature shot from the water again, this time from the other side of the island. As it torpedoed past her, its head collided tremendously with the palm, rending a massive, splintering gash at the tree's base on contact. The palm's trunk tipped dangerously and remained unnaturally slanted. The monster sustained far less trauma, having been only momentarily stunned. Only aggravated by this failed assault, it ferociously pursued Jenna on land, flopping absurdly on its side to inch closer.

Meager Land Part 3

Sluggishly, she stumbled to her feet and plodded to the other side of the fish's movements. She tripped and stopped abruptly to keep balance, at the same time struggling for air. When it could not come quickly enough, she doubled over and vomited, coughing up seawater and most of her last meal. She paused and then retched again, ejecting the last of her stomach's contents. She remained bent over the stained sand as she trembled, gasped, and spat out excess, bitter saliva. Wretchedly, she peered through briny, wet bangs to find the monster had struggled subtly closer. Its movements, however, had become weaker, causing it to do little more than simply thrash in place.

Watching her hideous beast, Jenna's instinctual awareness faded, and a similarly mindless rage replaced it. Adrenaline flowed in her veins once more, supplying her starved muscles with a sudden, unstable energy. She pushed herself upright and steadied herself on her tremulous legs. The monster struggled on.

She charged unsteadily forward, propelled by the desperation in her rasping wail. She pounced ineptly, crashing against the side of the monster's head as it twisted to meet her. Its teeth grazed her naked ankle, drawing a long rivulet of blood, before she could reposition herself more safely. The creature jumped and twisted like a bull, biting viciously at the air, but Jenna's loose straddle on its body allowed her to slide safely against its slimy scales as flipped and rolled.

Once she had secured sufficient stability, she unclenched her right fist from the lungfish's soft body and rammed it into one of its bulbous eyes. The eye retracted into the creature's head instantaneously, but Jenna's hand followed and found it trapped. She could feel the eye's lens bend under her fingers and finally-she imagined-break apart.

The monster convulsed silently as Jenna tried to force her nails deeper. Impossibly, its body arched acutely, and Jenna suddenly found herself soaring through the air. She yelped as the palm's rigid fronds brushed past her and was knocked silent as she smashed against the water. She sunk, struggled, and resurfaced, gasping frantically as she flailed her arms needlessly.

Her hand brushed against a smooth, slick object. She shrieked and twisted sharply. An oar, broken halfway down its handle, drifted lazily away on the shallow waves of her disturbance. Jenna snatched it close to her, ignoring its miniscule splinters as she did so. Its shattered end, though dulled by its wetness, held a fatal hope.

She spun toward the island. She hadn't landed far away from it-only a few yards-but as her eyes strained through the darkness, she could only discern the bent tree.

A ripple faded along the water in front of her. Her eyes widened. She breathed in.

Rows of teeth cut into her right thigh. Before she could cry out, the water rose up and enveloped her. As the monster dragged her down, she kept hold of the oar by the tips of her slender fingers. The oar landed back against her chest again as the beast slammed her against the sandy bottom. Throughout the onslaught, she forced her eyes to remain open against the salt water's sting and the unsettled sand's bite, but her effort produced little more than her attacker's faint image in the water's blackness.

The figure blurred further as it thrashed Jenna from side to side. She winced and moaned through clenched lips as the monster's teeth sawed deeper into her leg. Her body screamed, but her mind prevented her from doing the same. Only seconds without air, she was already losing her breath. The monster's throttling whipped her so violently that both air and consciousness were leaving her, but with what little of the latter she controlled, she knew this tumult would not allow for another moment of recuperation.

Fighting against the creature's movements and the water's tug, Jenna bent her upper body forward, bringing herself to a near sitting position. Weakened by the water and the beast, she could not adequately propel a swift damaging strike against it. Instead, she positioned the broken end of the oar toward the monster and, slowly and agonizingly, pushed it toward the hulking, moving mass around her leg.

The jagged end hit something soft but elicited no immediate response from the monster. Jenna whined silently, allowing tiny, delicate bubbles to escape from the small crevices between her lips. Her head throbbed; her thigh burned; and the rest of her leg she couldn't even feel anymore.

She retracted the oar, moved it upward slightly, and pushed forward again. A soft impact, but no response. She groaned, brought the oar back with the help of a sudden jerk from the monster, tilted it to the right, and pushed. A soft impact again, but once more, no response. Angry and desperate, she snatched the oar back and rammed it forward blindly.

The monster jackknifed at its middle, forcing its head up and consequently Jenna's head out of the water. In the same motion, its mouth closed sharply, digging into Jenna's leg to the bone. As the world exploded in her eyes and brain, she wailed away her first breath and sustained a banshee-like shriek with the consecutive inhales. The warmth spilling from her leg could no longer be denied or ignored.

Involuntarily, as Jenna strained against the pain, she pressed against the top of the oar's flat head. The flesh underneath the fish's punctured eye provided no resistance and the fractured wood pierced through to its brain. An electrical signal, sparked in the creature's final moments, coursed through the quickly dying neurons and reached its destination. The monster's jaw's muscles constricted fully. Jenna's femur shattered.

Similarly, the right side of Jenna's brain shattered. An intense kaleidoscope of colors, sounds, meters, descriptions, ideas, rhymes, emotions, environments, and alliterations filled her vision in an almost tangible form. This sight, this phantasmagoria, blazed like a bonfire, painful, burning, and beautiful. And she screamed throughout it all.

As the seconds passed, both the vision and the pain dulled. Her screams-although they had long faded as her throat was scraped raw-finally died. Morbidly freed from the monster, she floated onto her back, breathing raggedly. Blurred stars and faint clouds hung above her. Beside her, the immense corpse of the deformed lungfish drifted on its side. An oar jutted sickly from its eye. Suspended at such an angle, it looked prepared to row once more.

Blinded by a coat of tears, Jenna could not see this, but from the ocean's stillness, she knew. She made no movement for the faux island's shores. Her thigh had not stopped bleeding; her body had not stopped losing warmth; and her mind had not stopped losing consciousness. There was nothing else to stop now.

She laughed weakly, hearing her voice sneak away as a soft whimper. She was dying, losing her life steadily to the ocean. The monstrosity, her killer, was dead too, leaving its body to disintegrate and return to the ocean. Although it had ravaged her life, the ugly creature's essence would now blend with hers in nature's waters, becoming something perhaps not beautiful but at least complete. Her struggle, however short, would now fuse with her life. With her last thread of consciousness, Jenna couldn't think of anything more poetic.

Word Count: 3,811

Contest to close in about 16.5 hours.

I may not be around at 12AM EST to officially lock this (if another mod is, I'd appreciate it), so consider it SOFT LOCKED at exactly 12:01 AM July 2. I will heartlessly delete any entry post beyond that point.

:D

Dexter's Island
4,349 Words

Part 1/4

The sweat trickled down his neck in beads, a surefire indicator of his fear. He inhaled deeply, the dust and asbestos invading his lungs as he waited, crouching in the shadows. Footsteps cascaded through the near-empty building, growing louder by the moment and his heart hammered violently against his ribs. They called out his name; "Dexter! Dexter!"

"Dexter!" The doctor was standing above me, trying to shake me awake. I was somewhat lethargic, as the effect of the drugs were taking their precious time to wear off. I tried to pull myself upright, but I was overwhelmed by a throbbing in my head, which sent a searing pain coursing down my spine the moment I attempted to move. I whimpered pathetically.
"Shh" the doctor pressed a refreshingly damp cloth to my forehead. "You've been through a bit of a rough patch, I'm afraid." The cool water drew the sweat and the heat from my head, and slithered down my face with a familiar, yet not unpleasant feeling. "I can't make your pains go away, however they will heal over time, you just need to rest and let gravity pull the negative energy from your body." He left the cloth draped over my head, and I listened to his footsteps carry him out of the room. Then I lifted my arms and peeled the cloth off of my face.

I could have fainted there and then. My head began to spin as I noticed the cloth was dripping with diluted blood. MY blood. I slid one hand under the pink cloth and ran my fingers over my head, navigating their way towards the source of the blood-flow. The dull throbbing persisted as I found no trace of cuts or scrapes on my brow. My fingers wander carefully, tenderly onward, afraid of what they might find; A deep gash? A bruised and swollen cut? A... bullet wound? I could have cried when I felt the warm red substance on my sensitive fingertips. I ran my fingers along the parameter of the the wound, to determine its severity. It was no cut, nor gash, nor bullet wound. It was something immensely worse. At first, I thought the skin from my head had been ripped clean off, but after following the circumference of the wretched wound I hesitantly laid a finger carefully in the centre of my head. No flesh, the flesh was gone. No bone, either, my finger came down onto soft, delicate grey matter. I threw the cloth to the floor and cried out in utter anguish and helpless rage.

I pulled myself to my feet, breathing heavily, anxiety and fear creeping through every fibre of my body. The bench that I had lain on was streaked with blood smears, at the head of the bench, there was a small pool that had overflown and was currently dripping to the floor. Adjacent to the bench was a small, yet unscrupulously cluttered work table, upon which various old and bloody tools lay. And my skull. And another peculiar looking object; a clear skull-like dome piece with intricate circuitry sunk into its immaculate mould. I cautiously brought a hand to hover over, what I had assumed was, the cranial device as I contemplated whether or not to pick up this foreign and potentially dangerous object. I touch.

Footsteps... footsteps growing louder, growing ever louder and clearer, he's coming back to do... things I possibly don't want to imagine. I slide my hand off the dome, leaving a smear of blood, it felt hard as bone, but I shudder to think what sort of experiments he may have planned for me. My hand grips tidily around the handle of one of the various sharp tools on the table. A vicious looking barbed disc, which rotated on its centre. I took a few steps towards the door, the footsteps still making their way confidently towards me. I was at the door, and I crouched in waiting, watching for the moment the handle begins to turn. I redoubled my grip on the disc and raised it above my head. The handle turned, the door opened a crack, and his hand ceased to exist in harmony with his arm.

The doctor cried out in agony and tumbled through the door. Adrenaline and hate coursed through my body and I brought my foot down on his face. He whimpered as I applied pressure on his head. He tried to nurse his stump of an arm, but he knew there was no point, his hand was still gripped tightly to the door handle behind him.
"Answers!" I yelled "Give me answers!"
"I am sorry," he struggled "but for me to provide you with answers, you need to first ask me the questions." A pathetic grin crept across his face.
"Don't give me this shit!" I spat "what have you done to my fucking skull?!" I tried to take deep breaths, I tried to keep my composure, but I was hovering dangerously close to boiling point, and in fact, I had little control over my temper.
"Ah yes, that." He still put in the effort to maintain his authority through intellectual advantage. "I performed that rather tricky piece of procedure in order to fix the little pickle you've gotten yourself into."
"What... what pickle? And what was so important that you needed to remove my skull and leave me to figure it all out for myself?" A bitter swelling was blossoming in my stomach. I eased my foot off the doctor, and allowed him to get up.
"It wasn't smart, what you did. You almost got yourself killed, not to mention the dozens upon dozens of people you actually succeeded in killing." He dusted himself off with his remaining hand and gave a narcissistic smirk.
"No, that was just a dream. I remember... things, in my head. I didn't kill anyone." Self-doubt crept into my mind, I couldn't believe such a morbid reality could exist within myself.
"You cut my fucking hand off, didn't you?!" He said, begrudgingly. "You're a murderer. You've killed before, and it's only a matter of time before you kill again. And I think it's safe for me to assume that I'll be your next victim."
"Jesus fucking Christ! You cut off my fucking skull, give me one good reason why I shouldn't do the same to you?!" I brandished my disc threateningly, to which he laughed and pulled his surgical cap from his head.
I paused and stared in astonishment, light bounced of the translucent dome fixed to his head, and underneath the dome, his brain, visible as clear as day and coursing with nervous energy.

"It's amplifying my brain waves, Dexter. It's improving my hand-eye co-ordination, it's enhancing my senses, it's increasing my short and long-term memory capacity, and you... you will be able to remember how you got here." His chuckle sent a chill cascading down my spine.
"Yeah, thanks but no thanks." I spoke with utter disdain for the doctor, and I did bring the disc down on his head, shattering the dome and embedding the razor sharp barbs deep into his brain. His last words burned deep in my mind, revolt spread through my body... I was going to be sick. I rushed out through the door, stepping on the crystal shards that littered the floor and flung the door open in the process (the doctor's hand was sent soaring across the room) and I stumbled myself along a narrow hallway with mirrored walls, before I was on all fours retching and heaving my stomach contents onto the floor.

"You know, it's probably not a good thing leaving your brain exposed like that. It could get infected." I wiped my lips of the putrid bile and looked up into my reflection.
"I'd rather that be than to wear that infernal contraption" Great, now I'm talking with the voices in my head. Fan-fucking-tastic.
"Well, if you weren't a murderer before, you sure as hell are now. What have you got to lose?"
I held my hands against the wall, in an attempt to steady myself. My head was spinning and I knew it wasn't going to get any better. I heaved the rest of my stomach contents up before me and proceeded to convulse and dry heave. My throat was burning and I could barely steady myself. I stared again at my reflection, in defeat.

Continued Below

Dexter's Island

Part 2/4

I began the slow crawl back down the hall to the confines of the doctor's... laboratory? And to the table where the cap rested, waiting for me... begging me to come and wear it. And I answered its calls with a desperate salivating whimper, as I had been robbed of my energy, and without it I would surely die, my brain screaming for protection and my body yearning for death. I crawled back through the door, past the crumpled body of the man I had murdered out of frustration and anger. I smacked my lips at the sight of the dome, and basked in its glorious presence when I touched its surface for a second time. I grasped the dome like a greedy child grasps a lollipop and I stuffed it over my brain with a sigh of relief. Slumped on the floor, stained with blood and vomit, I drifted off into a restless slumber.

He heard them approaching, and he lowered himself further into the shadows. He did not want to be seen, least of all by the men that were calling for him. He held a gun in his hand, ready for the firing, but with his eyes shut tight, he prayed that he didn't have to use it. He willed with all his might that they stop looking for him and that he can leave this God-forsaken place in one piece. He was alone for now, save for the rodents and parasites nibbling on his torn and tattered pants.

He was cornered in this empty industrial fortress. He was hidden well, but if they found him, he'd have to fight his way out. They were chasing him because he was a criminal, a murderer, and they needed to protect the public from him. He had been on the run for months. He liked the look in his victims' eyes when they died. He liked staring into their fearful eyes when they embraced their fate, their last moment, as he pulled the trigger. His last victim... it all went wrong. She displayed not the fear that he was yearning. He hesitated, he fumbled, he made vital errors in his routines. Sure, she died, but he shot her out of panic, and the sirens wailed as the police drove right up to the deserted alley where he was fulfilling his dirty deeds. He shot, he ran... they followed.

Pace for pace, the police kept up with him. Pace for agonising pace, he tried to flee to no avail. His hands were stained with his victim's blood, his eyes were wide with fear for the first time in his life. He was not the predator in this game of cat and mouse, this time he was the prey. The fear he evoked in his victims was mirrored within himself. He ran down the alley way, bullets whizzed past him, a sure fire indicator that the police weren't merely playing games. He came through the other side of the alley out onto the road. Straight across without hesitation. He was close, oh so close to finding himself splattered across the pavement, so he was lucky in a way. Had he been hit instead of clearing the traffic, he would have been more or less indifferent about it all. He had his time to make his mark, he experienced his thrills and his game was up. Across the road and down the path towards the old docks that had been shut down many a year ago.

Now he was cornered, the police calling for him, but he remained silent, he held the gun in his quivering hand. Whatever the outcome, the results were not going to be pleasant, although that didn't make the decision any easier.

I came about once again, and I pulled myself up onto the bench. I looked across at the table of tools and pieces, the hacksaws and drills and knives, and I knew what I had to do. The dome rested uncomfortably on my head in such a way that blood had begun to seep underneath it and down my face. I held the dome in place with one hand and used my other hand to feel around the edge of the dome. A glance at the dead doctor at the entrance of the room had confirmed my suspicions. My dome had numerous little holes periodically bored through its surface. If the dome were to stay in place, and thus continue to keep me stable and conscious, I would have to drill it to my skull. With a shaking hand, I fitted a screw into the first hole. At this moment I left all doubt and reason behind and picked up the drill.

I held the drill to my head, willing myself to keep clam and steady. My finger rested idly upon the trigger as I searched delicately for the tip of the screw. I bit down on my lip and applied pressure on the screw. My finger clenched the drill and my skin tore open as the drill rotated and the screw bore itself into me. I clenched my lip tighter as the screw chipped against bone. I barely suppressed a scream of agony, but my lip had begun to bleed, the hole in my head was causing endless amounts of pain, and the blood coursed through my forehead, heating up and increasing my anxiety to no end.

The first one was in, the pain was immense, but I knew it would do no good to stop now; I had to continue. I fitted another screw, and again bit hard upon the flesh of my lip. The salty warmth of my own blood filling my mouth helped me to retain focus, and the bitter dull thumping of blood through my head ensured that I wanted nothing more than to complete this task post haste. Three, four, the blood blossomed from their holes and painted my face red. Slowly slowly, I bit deeper and deeper into my lip, tasting the flesh, setting my nerves afire with the constant grinding contact of my teeth. Another screw, lifting the drill to my head, pulling down on the trigger, sending a spiralling sensation of head-splitting pain deep to my core, making my eyes well up with tears and stream down my face, watering down the blood.

With the last screw, I granted myself a stress relieving sigh. I unclenched my jaw, mere moments before my lip was bitten clean through. My face was red, both from the blood leaking from the drill wounds and from the build up of blood pressure. I let the drill slip from my aching hands and crash to the floor, and I just sat on the bench, waiting for the blood in my head to redistribute itself throughout my body. The pain gradually ebbed away and I was able to calm myself down enough to pull myself to my feet. My head was now only spinning slightly, and I managed to walk across the room without losing my footing. I walked through the doorway, out into the hall of mirrors and I couldn't help but glance at my ghastly reflection. I searched for... well I don't know what, an exit? A door of some sort? I walked past the puddle of vomit I had left on the floor earlier, I tried to remember if I had been conscious when I came in, when they brought me in. Who is "they"? Where am I? How long have I been here?

Continued Below

Dexter's Island

Part 3/4

I remember waking up... the doctor talking to me... that was not so long ago... it feels like hours, days have passed. And before then? Blank. I kept walking, I could see the end of the hallway not too far off. There was another hallway crossing at the perpendicular, and I could see myself walking towards it in the reflective surface of the wall. Closer and closer, I drew closer to my reflection, and I thought I could see sunlight casting itself down through the left corridor and inviting me to join it outside. I rounded the corner with much eagerness, but alas! The light was just shining through the glass door of what appeared to be a very cluttered office. Without hesitation, I stepped right up to the door and tugged on the handle. There wasn't much room to move and the desk was cluttered with papers and files. A small plaque sat on the edge of the desk and read "Dr. Irving Gradie". I squeezed myself through to his side of the desk and flicked through some of the papers. Charts, statistics, diagrams and photographs. He had done his research on these domes. And then I saw the file, peeking out from beneath more clutter. It was labelled "Dexter Howard Pryce", and within it was a very thorough analysis of my life, and my... very brutal crimes. I read through some of the pages, scanning for vital details. Murder murder murder blah blah blah... Fled the scene of the crime, resisted arrest... shot two police officers before he could be restrained. Fabricated evidence... memory implants, sent to exile... What is this? What has been going on? I closed the file and gripped it tightly under my arm, and gathered several papers on the dome along with it. These men have torn apart my reality, all I knew now is that they are going to pay for their crimes.

I gave the room another quick scan, and found a hat to cover the abominable lab project that was embedded onto my brain, then I rushed out of the room towards the green "exit" sign at the end of this corridor. If I could just get out of this bastardisation of a laboratory and into the real world, I could prove my innocence and cleanse myself of this nightmare. I began at a humble jog, but it didn't take too long for my jog to quicken to a run. Desire took hold, and I could taste, I could smell the freedoms that lay on the other side of the door. I hated this entrapment, this fortification of the mind, body and soul. I sprinted full slog towards that little green sign at the end of the hallway. Fifty meters, forty meters, thirty meters, twenty meters, ten meters BAM! I crashed straight into the door and pushed my fist squarely upon the emergency exit trigger. I think I may have broken some fingers then, but I just kept on running. Light burned into my eyes as the door flung open and I felt soft grainy sand beneath my feet.

A beach... I was on a beach. I could barely see, barely make out the white hot sand and the aquamarine blue of the ocean or the pale cyan of the mid-afternoon sky. What lay behind me was the menacing grey mouth to a fortress that quickly vanished beneath the wild tangled mess of vines and foliage that formed into a jungle. I scanned the horizon for any sort of landmark to figure out where I was. Nothing but ocean. I walked along the coast, searching for a path in the jungle, or a road, or something... Nothing, just more beach, more ocean, more jungle. No islands, no boats, no life forms whatsoever. And then I heard them calling for me in angered protest.

I began to run, I knew it was all I could do. I glanced behind me to see how many men were following me, three or four it would seem. I ran along the beach, not expecting the scenery to change soon, yet I clutched on to the hope that I could outrun them. They were fast, but I was desperate. I couldn't go back and let them further crush my life. They yelled for me to stop, they yelled themselves hoarse, all the while knowing it was no use. I ran, as it was all I had left, and I ran, and I ran. They were not the police, they were my predators, they were the huntsmen. They had weapons, deadly weapons that looked simply unbearable should they actually use their weapons against me.

Further and further I ran, and further and further they chased, for what felt like hours, across the beach, alongside the ocean and the jungle, with the never-ceasing monotony. And then... off in the distance, on the horizon ahead of me, more of them, waiting outside the same grey fortress which had consumed my life. They saw me, and began to run towards me. No going forward, no going back, I plunged myself into the foamy waves that lapped at the edge of the island. I paddled my arms and kicked my legs as hard as I could, but then the salt water worked its way underneath the dome and into my wounds. The pain was searing through my head, rubbing deep through my brain the water burned deeply throughout my body and I gasped for breath. My body ceased up, my mind numbed, and I just floated on the waves, my face submerged. I gasped, but I only swallowed hot mouthfuls of salt water that caused me to gag and choke and burn up my stomach.

The men chasing me caught me with relative ease. I tried to move, tried to twitch a finger, all to no avail. One of the men approached me and fitted a claw-like attachment around the back of my head. Sure, I was paralysed and my flesh felt like it was burning throughout, but I could still feel the cold probing metal slide onto my head, and the round plate that pushed mercilessly against the back of my neck. I heard the fierce whine of a drill and felt its large blunt tip ripping into the centre of my head. With a jerking motion, the man pulled me out of the water by the piece of metal embedded into my head. I was defeated.

They started back to their laboratory with me, I was hung like a pathetic rag doll from the massive screw and carried by the meaty fist of a giant. With each quaking step the screw rattled and wedged itself further in my head. With each quaking step I drew closer to death. Burning, throbbing bleeding, damn near losing consciousness for what I desperately hoped was the last time. Not before the screw felt its way through my head and protruded through my eye socket. At last, the pain coursing through my body had ceased, those bastards had gotten the better of me, but at least now the torture was up.

They stood around in near blackness, the only light an ominous green glow from the pool in the centre of the room. One of the men had his eyes trained on several computer monitors that displayed various sources of information. One of the others was rapidly flicking through folders, briefly scouring the information held within. The last of the men held a notepad and pen at the ready. He gazed into the pool, studying the specimen within. It was a naked human being (to him; homo sapien) wired to dozens upon dozens of tubes, keeping him alive, monitoring his vital signs, amongst various other things. The man scratched his chin, before scribbling down something on his notepad.

The door burst open and the police commissioner walked through the doorway.
"How is the unmentionable doing this evening?" He asked, with a tone of suggestiveness.
"We've just finished the last simulation and we're still gathering results, nothing conclusive yet, I'm afraid." The notepad man said.
"Well don't keep up. Once you're done there, run him through another one." The commissioner left the room with haste, as he clearly lacked the time to stop and look into the situation clearly.
The second man lifted a file out of the pile in his arms and placed everything down on a desk. "Here we go, gentlemen, this one sounds perfect."
"Well?" Inquired the man watching the monitors "What does this one entail?"
"He's just had a nasty car accident and he wakes up in the home of a hermit that's claimed him as a slave." The second man says, hinting towards the sinister trauma involved.

Continued Below

Dexter's Island

Part 4/4

He handed the file over to the man watching the monitors, who procured a CD from within and inserted it into the computer system they had set up. Dexter floated within the pool as the scientists booted up a new nightmare, another barbaric torture-dream to keep him trapped within his mind. According to Dexter, he did not deserve this prison, he was a victim, but that was also part of his punishment. He was a cold-blooded killer, and now that they had him, they were going to squeeze him for every drop of suffering they could muster, and that included the despair of living in a treacherous nightmare in the belief that he had done nothing to deserve it. The whole world had thought that there couldn't possibly be a punishment as harsh and relentless enough for the demon-man Dexter Howard Pryce, but after several years behind bars, the police commissioner himself dragged Dexter into the torture chamber and dumped him into the green pool where he had been enduring nightmare after agonising nightmare as punishment for his crimes.

At last the people whom had complained that the jail cell was too good for Dexter, that the death penalty was too good for Dexter, at last they were content. He wouldn't be hurting anyone else any more.

P.S: I'm not entirely sure what I've written here, but I hope those that read it enjoyed it nonetheless.

Shenanigans

Wallowed in a porcelain throne like a newspaper-bound hermit; left the door open because no one shat a second glance anyways. No one could. Wind brushed the floating canvas below, and fickle hairs stood on the edge of rusting legs, trying to decide whether or not to jump and join in the phone.

Had a toilet in a tree; a bathtub in the shore; a phone on a wandering crab that, not surprisingly, never cared for being picked up. But life's necessities: poop-box, potential communication, and running water, were met with a candid, literal, thumbs-up.

The other fingers were always too busy to join in.

"..."

A storm ahead granted a shiver or two down the old spine. A book lowered to allow the eyes a peak and after they had their full of the dark, ominous horizon, they returned to the pages mounted with walls of text.

"Another storm? Jungle paradise my ass..."

A sigh and a mount to the crusty sandals far below. Toes wiggled at the ready before a pair of hands reacted, one to lower the book and the other to tear away a frail pair of reading glasses. It was time to brace gust with gusto, or so said sarcasm.

"Stop narratin' me, Joseph, in ya spea-kbox, it ain't funny no more."

The only thing that gives pleasure are the hordes of words echoing through the sands and portraying your adventures along the beachfront.

"Well, yuccun shut it. We've work an' no plane comin' by with 'at storm plowin' on in."

The storm, reverberating through the waters, plucking the feathers of the most powerful waves, drowning the sun in a far-from-peripheral husk of smoke and lighting. The storm to-

"Shut it! And let's get t'is raft done. Listen' t'ya voice too long to put up with anymore."

The tireless quarrel, the mark of the raging seas, and the dark front drawing near with a magnetic force paused upon a ring, on a crustacean no less.

"Phone!"

Six legs scuttled through the smaller dunes and kept fast towards the other end of the beach. A throbbing finger readied and aimed towards the irritating default ringer. The rest groped the hot sands for driftwood and moldy planks to add to the pile. With prayers, it should be buoyant. With Marcus' rough speak, the pieces could be talked into cracking and abandoning ship without surprise from either one.

"COME AT 'ERE YA RED MENACE!"

The omniscient voice didn't seem to dim the salty seaman's direction: the one target that could gather a rescue short of a full minute. It had clawed its way through the wreckage that came to the eight-hundred cubic steps of dried whale-sperm and coconut trees. A blasted 'Red Menace' that taunted any sight with a very active, very functional cell phone.

But little did anyone actively running realize that the make-shift raft was suddenly floating off to the cluttered, storming beyond.

"WHAT!? THE RAFT!"

Marcus turned away from his prey and dove back towards the-

"QUIT YA NARRATIN' AND GET YA SKINNY ASS HE'A!"

His comrade finally stood on his own two sandals, equally sandy, equally crusty. Though, watching the fumbling frame of a human topple over his greedy two feet for a raft now yards away was entertaining, enough to split the sides of the manliest of testosterone ships and sink it. Of course, the raft decided to do just that. Crashing waves roared and tore it bit by bit. They sped after the man once at pursuit, now running back towards the beach like a scared school girl.

"I swear to ya dead mum that if ya don't stop gawking and standing around, I'll make ya bones the raft and ya neck the stern!"

But the narrator of this pristine island was neither gawking nor standing. He was sitting on a firm, but well-crafted beach boulder, just before a fine microphone and a vast array of watered records. His powerful and brilliant words even touched his own ears, even touched his own eyes. His beautiful and knowing speech left all in tears.

"Joseph! Put the God-danged stick down and go get the raft! You ain't gonna want me to come ove' there. Not this time."

The awe-inspiring narrator, of course, could never leave his post. There was too much awe to inspire with, after all. An' you can tell ah words been spreadin' too far up his head. The narrator has been compromised! Tainted by vile- somethin' better, actually. Don't be gripin' 'bout a lost stand. Too much Sun on 'a tongue, prolly.

That ain't right!

Complaints! Fingers pointed! An' still, the raft rots jus' like his head! He takes his stand and runs right towards the better 'alf. Fists raised! Pose struck! It's a fight to-

Riiing, riiing.

The nasty phone rings twice and still the so called 'better' has yet to capture it. The first signs of rain drench half of the fshore and close in like sharks, teeth bare and all. What will it be mister compromise? Fight or shelter?

O' course this 'ere battle's too excitin' for either of them to put down!

Really?

Really!

Ya 'ot me into it now too, bastard! Give some space, eh I'll stab ya blood out t'ya! The narrator's microphone toiled back and forth between heaven and hell, God and the devil, struggling to find its way home! And- AND NUTTIN'! TIME TO GET OF'T THIS BEACHED ROCK!

The microphone! NO! It flew through the air, spiraling and shrieking, running past sharp winds and stomping raindrops.

"It fell into the water- wait... what? Where are we?"

"We're on an island ya twit! You've been loony ever since ya ripped a piece a' the poopin' tree and fell ya head down! Now we gotta storm 'n no ship!"

"AN' THE GOD-DAMNED CRAB! WHERE IS THE THING!?"

"Scuttlin' into the water as well..."

"...it's pouring rain. You maniac! This is your fault! No communications! No raft! No narration! Are you happy now!?"

"No."

"Well I'm going into the shelter and like it or not I'm locking your sorry ass out!"

"Dun ya dare!"

"Running! I am running!"

"Run all ya like, I'm faster than ya'll ever be!"

"Too late! I'm at the door!"

"Lock it and I'll make ya a death wish you'll never forget!"

"Locked!"

"Let me in now! I'm drenched ya devil!"

"Sorry, can't let you in."

"A'ILL DIE OUT HE'E!"

"It came back to me pretty quickly! You took my pride and joy! Sure, the shock left me desperate, for a bit. But I need to survive!"

"In a Ga'd-damned bathtub you GLUED AH LOCK ONTA!? You're ridiculous."

"Maybe I am, but at least I had a purpose. You've been shitting and yelling and chasing after a crab.... this entire time. What does that make you!?"

"Ah man wit' needs, Jo, ah man wit' needs."

Unnoticed by either of the gentlemen, a new set of eyes stared beyond the ferociously-running tides.

"Marcus! Did you get it back!"

Joseph quarreled to release himself from his rounded fortress while Marcus looked off towards the raging sea in shock.

"'Sa fish... a God-damned fish!"

"What!?"

They stared at a small, gilled creature, shocked and appalled. Nothing more than a mere silvery fish?

Think again.

"...It ...it ate my microphone? IT ATE MY MICROPHONE!?"

He made a dash for the shoreline, despite the tempest pouring its mighty gallons from above. The figure grew larger in size, growing nearer now, until of course the more intelligent of the two ducked back into the water! Ha!

"... a talkin' fish? Jo! It's a talkin' fish!"

"I-I noticed."

"Well, where did the blimey thing git to now?"

"... the ocean. Where else!?!"

"Speakin' of... look a'that."

It could be seen and felt: a trembling, murderous wave that raced towards all the humanity that could be visualized. Nothing could escape it. Not a thing. Maybe a - nope, nothing. Well, nothing that lived on land, anyways. Fish however, can escape unscathed from such monstrous forms.

"That fish is taunting us."

"Ye'right."

"No, it's really taunting us. Have you even been listening to it?"

"Too busy lookin' at the man-eatin' wave."

"Well, it's going in deep. What do we do?"

"We 'cept fate like men."

"Bathtub?"

"Aye."

Taking shelter in a bathtub from such an extraordinary force of Mother Nature, now that is a sad, sad sight... indefinitely sad.

"Ya know what might be best mate?"

"Running for our lives to the other end of this place?"

"CAPSIZE THE TUB AND WE'LL BE JUS' FINE!"

"From that thing!?"

"Worth a try or ar' ya gonna call it the quits and refuse life?"

Funny how they think the two of them will cozily fit beneath a bathtub and place their faith in the outer rim to keep them safe. Impossible, so says the catastrophe.

"THAT FISH STILL MAKIN' WORDS AT US!"

"Well we're probably going to die. Let's take the fish with us."

"Ya thoughts spark like diamon's! Tub goin' to water!"

Oh, those silly humans. Trying to hit the needle in a haystack is no easier than finding it. Especially when said haystack is about to be slammed by an industrial train.

"How'd a fish know 'bout trains!?"

"Who cares!? Just paddle the hell into the bastard!"

They had a poor plan, but a plan nonetheless. But would they be willing to play chicken? Would they deny themselves a chance to call home. Mr. Micconoway, resident crab, left a curious stare towards the now-floating circus of two. It was a two-on-two battle royal, and with an apocalyptic wall of water pounding towards the contestants, time was running short.

"HA! I caught the blimey thing!"

Distracted by the wall of water, how careless! But, pitting fumbling fingers against sleek scales, the latter always wins and darts away.

"Blast! Paddle the tub faster! He's a goin' that a way!"

Faster and faster, the wave draws near. The storm's finishing move, the spears raised and in the arms of thousands. Against a tiny shield, there's no question about the outcome. To think that some are that dimwitted to push harder when they stand no chance, none, whatsoever.

"Seriously! Catch that fish! He's obnoxious!"

"Aye, I would if someone'd paddl' faster!"

"I'm paddling, I'm paddling!"

"Oy, that wave's gettin' 'ere. Get ready for 'er bang, bud!"

"Oh no! Hold on!"

And so did it bang. A swimming tub, with a kindly returned cell phone - floating right on by still - brushed across a wetly-woven wall. A brightly colored island 'came lost in a torrential storm. Buckled rocks tumbled away and, with shouts that resembled bellowing whale calls, two sea-worn men were obliterated. A sad day in-

"Not so fast!"

Urk-

"Din't ya know bathtubs float!?"

"Well, I didn't."

"Shaddup."

Tragedy.
Word count:1,575

Green eyes stared longingly out of a grimy window, seeming to flicker back and forth at every small shifting of movement in the dirt surrounding the small cabin. Well, truth be told, the eyes weren't entirely green. One would say from looking at them that the edges interlaced with brown strands, weaving a very unique web of color. A strange pattering sound began, and at first it wasn't noticeable, the sound blending into the background. This was until the strange pattering sound hit into the window, causing small specks of water to appear, draining down the window, taking rivulets of the dirt with it. This pooled at the bottom of the sill for a moment, before breaking over, spilling down onto the ground in a cascade of moisture. There was a sudden BOOM in the background, causing her to jump and be knocked out of her reverie.
Eve let forth a small sigh, raising her arms over her head and stretching, chin falling into her hand as she continued gazing out of the window. She knew exactly what she was waiting for...and hoped she'd be left waiting. A strange howling sound began outside, and the rain picked up in tempo and force, seeming to compose a strange sonnet of nature for her, a loud crack of thunder ringing out gloriously once more. Were she in a better mood, she may have hummed a small tune, the rain always lifting her spirits.

Unfortunately, she was not in a better mood.

Eve shook her head, shivering from something that wasn't cold. Her pale hand slid into her Cargo pocket, pulling out a small white box. She flicked it open, a multitude of small sticks of different sizes and colors inside. She pulled one out, snapping it shut, pressing it to the side of the box and running it across, the friction igniting the end into flame, casting a warm light throughout the small room.
Orange met the black of the night, and suddenly a cheery light was cast about the small room, the stubby white candle perched ever diligently upon its plain, unadorned brass holder, tarnished from use. She grabbed the handle, holding both the match and the candle as she left the room. Outside, lightning met earth once more, a loud BANG sounding as if it was right in her ear, and she almost dropped the candle. Quickly striding out of the room that had made her so jumpy, she caught her own eye on a mirror as she walked past the "bathroom", and suddenly stopped, taking a moment to inspect herself. She looked incredibly tired, large purple circles seeming chiseled permanently into her face beneath her unique eyes. She had a notably pale complexion, her light brown hair flowing gently to just below shoulder height, and suddenly she seemed distressed. She drew nearer to the mirror, feeling the soft, fragile skin beneath her eyes. The rings were enlarging by the day, she needed to get more sleep. As if on cue, a massive yawn floated out of her, feeling as if all the muscles in her body tightened and then relaxed. She looked in the mirror once more, allowing herself a vain moment. She had a pretty face, her pale skin soft and smooth. She was five foot six inches, and never wore heels to accentuate the fact. She gave a small smile to herself, shaking her head slightly so her silky hair fell to frame her face. She turned around, instantly angry with herself. She loped out to the kitchen, candle light flickering as she moved, setting said candle on the makeshift table. Wishing she didn't have quite as much time to think as she did, she focused her attention to the rain with a wistful smile. The pattering was fading slightly now; and there was no more thunder. She sat in a chair.

How long had she been stranded on this damn island, waiting? She'd lost track after the first few weeks.
It had started a month ago, rumors of disappearances. The government capped it. That didn't last long. People started disappearing from their houses at night, until it got to the point where no one felt safe, even with a loaded gun next to their bed. People huddled together, screams ringing out in the middle of the night. There was no stopping what was happening. It had been spreading.
So what exactly WAS "it"? No one knew. The government gave illusions of knowing, but no one truly knew what was happening.

New York City was the first to fall.

Reports were everywhere. Flooding the internet, broadcast on every television channel. There was no stopping the reports. Buildings burning, foundations crumbling. The sky was cast an ugly grey.

And then, a picture came up.

It was one of THEM.

The entire country was thrown into an uproar. No, not the Country. The WORLD was thrown into an uproar.

The image was blurry, but what the creature was was obvious. It stood at seven feet tall, and had a humanoid shape. It had a strange, iridescent bright red skin similar to that of an ambulance light. It looked directly at the camera. Perhaps look isn't the right way to describe it. Its eyes seemed to bore through the picture and directly into one's soul, the pure hatred seen there evident through the grains.
Soon, more pictures began cropping up, and more reports. Paris, Melbourne, Sydney, Moscow and more. The major cities were falling prey to this threat no one could find. That's when why she was here happened...

She remembered the encounter clear as day. She had sat wide-eyed in her bed, knees huddled against her chest, chin on her knees, as screams rang out through the night. Suddenly, there was a noise just outside her window. She instinctively dove from her bed, right as the window exploded, a red blur flitting into her room. She dove out the broken window and slid down the adjacent tree, landing on a lush, green ground, struck in horror at the scene before her. There was a pile of bodies, directly in the center of the cul-de-sac. It stood directly atop the pile, staring right at her. What happened next was a blur. The creature emitted a loud shriek, its red skin flowing, like magma as it suddenly flew towards her, and she ducked, rolling forwards, feeling heat sear the top of her head. She sprinted down the street, bare feet slapping against the cement sidewalk as she leapt a short white picket fence, ducking into a house as the blur sped past her. She threw open a likely looking door, which led into a garage. She grabbed keys off a shelf, jumped into the car, and twisted the ignition. The car sputtered to life as she threw it into drive and slammed down on the gas, breaking through the garage door, slamming into something, the car instantly dying. She got out of the car cautiously. Its carcass was on the road. She turned to look at the car - - - the entire front section had caved in, bubbling. It had been a damn good car, too- - a Mercedes, sleek and black. That was when she heard the white noise, looking up to a black helicopter descending from the night sky. She panted for air, the adrenaline rush wearing off and leaving her drained, scared, and confused as she collapsed to the ground. When she awoke, it was to an odd sound, which she immediately recognized as a song, stirring into consciousness.
"Come ride with me...through the veins of history..."
She sat up slowly, trying to figure out where she was, eyes fluttering open.
"I'll show you a god...who falls asleep on the job..."
She groaned as she tried to clear her head, seeing only black as she looked around. Suddenly the lights turned on and she had to close her eyes again, her pupils dilating slowly.
"And how can we win, If fools can be kings....don't waste your time, or time will waste----"
the song shut off with a click as her eyes slowly opened again.
"Where..."
She was immediately cut off.
"How did you do it?"
The sudden male voice made her stop and think for a moment, looking directly into someone's chest, realizing she was in a hospital setting.
"Do..wha---"
"Don't mess with me. How the HELL did you kill that creature?"
She groaned, the memory rushing back to her. What ensued was complete and utter chaos. With information on the creatures, they were traced back to an island.

This island was where she currently was, investigating the source. What they didn't know was something they'd never find out...because it was already too late.

The creatures hadn't come from outer space. They weren't aliens, or zombies. They'd come from the earth. Only not from the surface. They lived in the mantle, much as the way humans lived on the crust. And they were no longer on the island. They were reclaiming their planet.

As Eve looked out the window, she gasped, seeing exactly what she didn't want to see---a strange, white light. She sprinted outside, in tears as a sun bloomed in the midnight sky, mushrooming upwards. She cursed the island, she cursed the creatures, and she cursed humanity as she looked up and saw an object dropping from the sky, everything bloomed red and orange, and her vision grayed out.

"I mean, really - how much fluffiness does the kid need," Tom thought to himself as he examined the packages. While the Fuzzy Bear on the one pack guaranteed 'Squeezable Tenderness', the Grinning Cloud countered with '10% more Fluffiness'. Tom glanced back and forth between the two mascots, attempting to determine which character appeared more trustworthy. Finally, he tossed the Cloud in his basket, stuffing the Bear back on the shelf.

Wheeling his cart down the aisle, Tom glanced over the remaining diaper brands. He pondered how many trips he would have to make to this aisle in the upcoming year, then cringed at the very thought of it. His son was only two weeks old and he had already wandered this aisle dozens of times. He knew raising a child was expensive, but this is ridiculous.

Tom simply sighed and continued to push his cart toward the registers. This part of fatherhood is to be expected, and he knew in the back of his mind that it was well worth it. Being a father was magnificent, and he would never wish it away.

Steering his cart into the Express Checkout lane, Tom began to unload his ten items or less. He reviewed his mental grocery list carefully: diapers, formula, wet naps, new 4-pack of pacifiers, milk, bread. Yep, all there.

"Cash or Credit?" the attendant asked, her boredom barely masked by forced courtesy. Tom fumbled through his wallet for his debit card, quickly placing it into the young girl's impatient hand.

"Can I please see some Identification Mr...." she glanced back down at the card, "...Fulp?"

Tom returned again to his wallet and retrieved his license, glancing sheepishly at the line forming behind him.

"Your total comes to $67.42. Here's your card back." Tom seized his card and began to slide it back into his wallet.

*Thump*

The checkout girl glanced away from her register, amused that the tall customer had dropped his wallet. She waited for him to rise on the other side of the conveyor belt, wallet in hand, but the seconds quickly passed and he didn't reappear. Puzzled, she stood on her toes and leaned over the counter. The customer's wallet lay alone on the floor; the debit card remaining halfway out of its slot.

She glanced towards the parking lot, expecting to see the customer sprinting towards his car, rushing towards some emergency or forgotten appointment, but she couldn't spot him. Shrugging, she pushed the guy's unclaimed groceries out of the way.

"Next please!"

***

Tom awoke with a jerk. He tried to open his eyes, but found himself blinded by the intense light that suddenly flooded his world. His face and chest were on fire, scalded by the soft surface he lay upon. Had he passed out? Was this the hospital? Why was it so hot?

His vision still clouded, he tried to remember what had happened after he left the grocery store. Had he left the grocery store? Bizarre noises floated around him: birds calling, a strong wind whistling past him, a strange rumble which seemed both foreign and strangely familiar. He attempted to open his eyes again, squinting against the impenetrable light. A large blue blur lay just ahead of him and Tom knew the eerie rumbling noise was coming from that direction. He gathered his strength and forced himself to a kneeling position, shaking his head in an attempt to focus his eyes.

Crawling towards the rumbling, dark haze, Tom's vision cleared enough to note the immense size of the mysterious blur. This was no building. Continuing onwards, Tom's left hand fell into a cool mush. He paused, confused by this sharp contrast in temperature. Suddenly a cold liquid rushed over his hands and legs, pushing him backwards. The familiar rumbling sound became obvious now, and Tom retreated from the oncoming waves.

He was on the beach.

This discovery was both comforting and panic-inducing. Yes, he was now aware of his current environment, but he was still completely ignorant as to how he reached the coastline, or who brought him here. His vision had almost fully returned and he turned to look inland. Expecting to see the normal dunes and wealthy homes which tend to line coastal shorelines, Tom's gaze met only a dense and dark wall of trees. This did nothing to quiet his panic.

Tom frantically rummaged through his pockets for his cell phone, but he already knew it wasn't there. It was plugged into his car, recharging. "A car that's probably parked hundreds of miles away," he muttered to himself. He walked closer to the line of trees, trying to spot a path or marker of any type - something that would give him an idea of where he was. Nothing.

Tom walked a few paces into the dark overgrowth, then halted and peered into the shadowy mesh of trees. God knows what lay hidden inside, he thought to himself. Retreating back onto the sand, he decided that any hope of rescue lay along the shoreline. Content that he had established a reasonable plan of action, Tom set out along the beach at a brisk pace, eager to find someone - anyone - who could explain what the hell was going on.

***

Gasping, Tom dropped to his hands and knees on the sand. He had been walking for hours upon hours and still had not come across any sign of life. His shirt was drenched with sweat, his mouth dry and chapped with thirst. He had already cast aside the loose change and keys from his pockets, but his clothes still hung heavy on his weary frame.

During his journey, the confusion of waking up in a bizarre and unfamiliar world had slowly been overcome by a more pressing fear - his own mortality. He would have to go into the jungle, Tom admitted, if he hoped to find fresh water. It was a frightening proposition, but he knew the consequences if he didn't find fresh water soon.

Readying himself for this new mission, Tom prepared to hoist himself to his feet. However, he spotted something in the sand ahead which gave him pause - a footprint. A footprint! There were other people here - right here! Tom leapt to his feet and starting chasing the path this unknown person had left in the sand. Tom didn't care who this individual was, or where they were going - he was just happy someone was nearby who could give him water, and maybe some answers.

***

The unknown person's path seemed to remain close to the water and go on for quite some distance. Tom's pace had gradually slowed to a crawl again. He was certainly rejuvenated by this encouraging discovery, but still battled exhaustion from his journey thus far. Eager for some sign of progress, Tom stopped and stared backwards in an attempt to see how far he had come since discovering this new trail. He saw the two trails lain out on the sand, but could not see the starting point of either one. Oh well - he was sure that this crazy adventure was coming to an end soon - this trail has to lead somewhere!

Tom glanced down at the person's trail again, ready to continue, when his breath caught in his throat. Lying in the nearest footprint was a nickel, glimmering in the sunlight.

It couldn't be.

Tom stumbled further ahead, finding two dimes and a quarter scattered in the sand. As he sunk to his knees beside his discarded pocket change, a familiar set of keys lay in the sand just ahead.

***
1/4 (I think?)

At 7/1/09 11:45 PM, bahamalama wrote: saw an object dropping from the sky, everything bloomed red and orange, and her vision grayed out.

oh crap! I didn't include: Lyrics (C) the band Muse, From the song Knights of Cydonia

An island.

How did he get here? How the HELL did he get here?! Who brought him here? Why?!

Tom's mind raced with questions. The lack of any rational answers caused his frustration and anger to blossom. He spit and cursed at the sand, the water, the sky - this world that had suddenly revealed its true colors - as his prison. His cage.

Delirious with dehydration and emotionally drained, Tom barely noticed the fast approaching darkness creeping along the sky. He soon found himself shivering against the chilly night air, his damp clothes stinging his body with every movement. Too exhausted to build a fire (and too pampered by the ease of modernity to even know how), Tom curled himself into a huddled mound and fell asleep.

***

"Tom! Tom Fulp! Oh my god, Tom!"

Tom's eyes snapped open at the sound of his name. Was he home? Had this been all a dream?

He opened his eyes to see the morning sun creeping above the horizon, its rays shimmering across the ocean's face. He was still here. Still in this nightmare.

"Tom! Are you ok?!" The voice yelled again, sounding closer this time. Tom sat up, brushing the sand off his face. He glanced down the beach and observed a blurry figure approaching along the beach. He staggered to his feet and began to walk, then run, towards this mysterious person. Rescue? The man knew Tom's name, so he must have arrived on the island to find him - it must be rescue! His grogginess was replaced with a newfound excitement, and he began to rehearse the tales he would tell once he arrived back home. "I bet this'll make a good News Post..." Tom thought with a grin.

"Tom! I can't believe it's really you! Oh my god! This is awesome!"

The figure kept approaching, but its height did not increase as much as Tom expected. Finally, his rescuer came into focus and Tom noticed, with some disappointment, that his savior was a small boy, perhaps the age of 11 or 12. His thick mop of hair bounced along the beach, propelled by a pair of skinny, pale legs.

"Who are you?" Tom asked, "Are you with a search and rescue team? Do you live around here?"

"I do now," the child said with a grin, stopping just ahead of Tom. The boy pushed his glasses back up on his nose and adjusted his large black t-shirt - attempting to make himself more presentable, Tom supposed.

"What do you mean? Were you brought here too? Who put us here? Is this some sort of experiment?" Tom's confidence that his ordeal would soon be over had drained away with this small boy's arrival.

"Experiment? No - I asked to be here! Well...I wished for it, I mean. But I can't believe I'm actually meeting the Tom Fulp! Wow!" the boy stared down at the sand, suddenly shy. After a brief pause, his level of enthusiasm rebounded and he began skipping away towards the treeline, "Come on! I want to show you everything!" The boy disappeared into the underbrush.

"Wait - woah! Wait for me!" Whoever this kid was, Tom knew that his best chance was to follow him. He dived into the trees after the boy, spotting the child's black t-shirt moving between the trunks ahead.

"Hey - wait up, kid! Hold on, I need to ask..." Tom's sentence trailed off as he emerged from the dense thicket, stepping into a large clearing. Ahead of him was a beautiful meadow, filled with small trees and encircled by a dozen or so glistening pools. Tom spotted the boy walking up a small slope on the far side of the field which, to Tom's amazement, supported a small house. The boy turned and waited for Tom on the home's front porch.

Tom made his way towards the house, finding it difficult not to spin in circles in an attempt to examine every part of the meadow. The house, an older Victorian, was encircled by eleven shimmering tide pools, each more picturesque than the last. Different types of trees were scattered here-and-there throughout the clearing, each loaded with various fruits. Stopping alongside one of the smaller trees, he reached out to pluck a pear from its branches, but heard the boy call from the porch, "Hey! Let's go inside - we have plenty of food!"

Plenty of Food?

Tom practically sprinted the rest of the way to the house.

***

Tom sat at the kitchen table, gulping down his third glass of Gatorade. He anxiously stared at the pizza baking in the oven, its aroma wafting across the room. The boy sat across the table, not saying one word. Just staring.

Finally, Tom broke the silence, "So...do you live here with your parents?"

"No. My parents are lame, so I live here by myself."

Tom paused mid-sip. "You live here by yourself? On this island...?" he questioned.

"Of course," the boy said with a wide grin, "It's MY island!"

"What are you talking about? How can you afford all of this? Where do these pizzas come from? Where does this Gatorade come from? Really - where are your parents??"

"I told you," the boy said, his grin fading, "This is my island and my parents aren't allowed here. The Gatorade is here because I want it here. Pizza is my favorite food, so it's here."

"But who brings it to you?" Tom pressed, unsatisfied by the boy's vague answers. "Someone has to travel here to give you supplies."

"Nope."

Tom paused, discouraged, then tried a different approach: "Who else is on the island? Is there a town hidden somewhere?"

"Nope."

"What do you mean, 'Nope'?"

"Nope! There is no one else on this island! It's MY ISLAND!!" the boy yelled, suddenly angry. The young child rose from his chair, knocking it back onto the floor, and stomped out of the room yelling, "This is the way I like things, so that's the way they are!"

***

Tom ate the pizza in silence, mulling over everything that had happened since he woke up on the beach. "There's got to be someone else on this island," Tom thought hopefully. He had already wandered the first floor of the house, finding a plethora of TVs, game systems and junk food - but no phone, computer or any means of contacting the outside world.

Tom drifted over to fridge, refilling his glass of Gatorade. He heard the boy still stomping above him. His young companion's presence on the island was equally perplexing - from what he could determine, the kid chose to be here. Somehow, he brought enough food and supplies to survive for quite some time, but he would need another shipment sooner or later. And that was his ticket out of here, Tom concluded. Unless the kid knew another way off...

Tom set his glass and headed towards the stairs, determined to get his answers. Climbing the stairs, he heard the muffled "pows" and "kablams" of some adrenaline-fueled videogame coming from behind a closed bedroom door. Opening it a crack, he saw the young child parked in front of a huge flat screen TV, completely immersed in some war RPG. Without hesitation, Tom walked into the room and switched off the game.

"Woah...wait...HEY WHAT THE HELL MAN?!" The child leapt to his feet, throwing his controller down on the ground in frustration.

"Sit down, kid - we need to talk." The boy heard the conviction in Tom's voice and obeyed, falling back into his seat. "Now, you seem to know everything about this island, and I want some answers. Now, how did you get here?"

The boy looked down at his shoes, his brow furrowed in concentration. After a moment, he seemed to come to a decision and stared back at Tom: "Can you keep a secret?"

Tom nodded, and the boy continued, "I found something, back home. I used to wander the beach by my neighborhood, and one day I found a cave during really low tide. I went in, even though I know I shouldn't, and found....something."

"Found what?"

"A...bottle. Sort of. Here, let me show you." The boy got up and walked over to his closet, throwing open the door to reveal a large pile of junk. Tossing aside discarded clothes and empty wrappers, the boy finally emerged from the doorway, grasping a tiny glass bottle.

"I found this," handing the bottle to Tom, "and I popped open the cork to see what was inside. And, well...just open it and you'll see." The kid took a few steps backwards, eyeing the glass container warily.

Tom pried open the vessel and peered inside. Nothing. He glanced at the kid with skepticism, prepared to scold him for wasting his time with this nonsense, when the mouth of the bottle suddenly erupted with light and smoke. With a yelp, Tom dropped the bottle and backed away from the rising column of glowing vapor. His back pressed up against the wall, Tom witnessed an unending stream of light and smoke pouring out of the tiny vessel. Soon a white fog seemed to fill the entire space, suffocating him.

After a moment, the smoke dissipated somewhat and Tom realized they were no longer alone in the room. A man stood next to the boy now, completely covered in a fine white layer of smoke - as if he were created from the very vapors which had escaped the tiny vessel.

"Tom," the boy said, glancing up at the tall creature to his right, "I'd like you to meet my genie."

***

Tom sat on the boy's bed, attempting to absorb the boy's story.

"So - you found this...genie...and he said he could grant you anything you want?"

"Yep."

"And so you asked for your own private island? And this house? And all of this food and games and junk?"

"Yep!"

Tom went through it all again, trying to wrap his mind around this tale. Genies. Wishes. This couldn't possibly be true! Yet here he was, on a tropical island, alone with a small boy who had everything he could ever hope for. Oh, and he had just witnessed some sort of the man-shaped cloud come floating out of a tiny bottle. That too.

"So...why didn't you bring your friends here? Or family? I'm sure your parents are frantic about you."

"Meh...I never really liked my parents. They were always telling me what to do, what to eat, what time I had to go to sleep. They would never let me play my videogames except on the weekend!" The boy's face grew stern with the memory of this appalling injustice. "But, yeah - it was pretty lonely on the island so that's why..." The boy trailed off, his eyes falling away from Tom's face.

Tom suddenly understood. "You! You brought me here! You wished for me to be here! Why??" Tom rushed over the boy, grabbing him by the shoulders, "WHY DID YOU BRING ME HERE?!"

"Woah! Hey - STOP IT!" the boy shrieked. Tom released the child, his temper briefly under control.

"I brought you here," the boy continued hesitantly, "because you are the coolest guy in, like, the whole world! I went on Newgrounds every day back home and it was so awesome! All of the flashes and games and art and everything - it was all so cool!" The boy's eyes lit up, like he was recalling his favorite Christmas morning.

"You brought me here....to this deserted island...away from my family...away from my life....because you liked my website...?" Tom whispered through clenched teeth.

"Um-hmm," the boy said, backing away from Tom. He tried to explain himself, in hopes of diffusing Tom's rising anger: "I wished for you so we could play games and watch movies together! I mean - that's what you like to do, right? That's why you created Newgrounds - so you could watch everyone's movies and play all of the games, right...?"

Tom closed his eyes and turned away from the boy, his hands clenched in tight fists at his side. Not daring to say a word or even approach the boy, he began to pace the room. After a few moments had passed, Tom gathered his thoughts together: "Kid - what you did was wrong. I have a family. A son. Friends back home. You CANNOT JUST RIP SOMEONE OUT OF THEIR OWN LIFE SO THEY CAN PLAY GAMES WITH YOU!!" Tom paused, realizing that he was yelling again, and focused on calming himself down. After another few seconds, Tom exhaled and continued: "Now, kid, just wish me back home and we can just forget this entire thing ever happened."

Upon hearing this request, the boy's face froze in disbelief, as if he had just been slapped. His lips quivered, and the child spun around so his back faced Tom.

"You will never leave..."

"What? What was that?"

"I said," the boy turned back around, clearly in the grip of a newfound fury, "that you will NEVER leave my island! I want you here, playing games with me, and THAT is what is going to happen!"

The boy turned towards his genie, still standing silently in the corner, "Genie! I wish that Tom Fulp remains on this island forever, and he WILL play whatever games I want, WHENEVER I want, and watch..."

The boy continued, listing off the requirements of Tom's new life here on the island, as Tom stood frozen in place.

"No...No...nonononononon.." Tom mumbled, desperate to stop the child from casting this terrifying wish. He glanced around frantically, grabbed a lamp off the nearest end table, and threw it at the boy.

"...and he will have to stay up as late as I WANT him to, and watch whatever I WANT him-" *CRACK*

The lamp struck the boy in the head, just above his ear, and he fell to the floor. Tom rushed over, praying that he had stopped the child in time. He looked at the genie for any clue as to the effect of the boys words - but the genie simply stared at the crumpled form lying motionless on the floor, saying nothing - as if waiting for the wish to be completed. Tom had no way to determine whether the wish had been successful without the child, so he knelt down beside the boy to wake him up.

"Hey - hey kid. Come on, wake up." Tom shook the child, ready for his eyes to pop flutter open. "Kid?"

Tom shook the boy harder, his voice rising, "Kid! Hey, come on kid! Time to get up...!"

"The boy is gone."

Tom turned and stared at the genie, unsure of what the creature meant. "What did you say...?"

"The boy is gone, Thomas."

"No...No!" Tom turned back to the boy, desperately shaking the child's shoulders - trying to awaken any sign of life. But the boy remained limp, his head lolling about on his neck.

"Nonononono..." Tom crawled backwards away from the body, tears streaming down his face. "It wasn't my fault," Tom mumbled, attempting to rationalize his grave error. "I had to stop him - or I would never see my wife again. Never see my son again! I had to stop him!" Tom looked at the genie, his eyes pleading for some small ounce of assurance.

The genie looked down at Tom, its face emotionless.

"I've...I've got to get out of here! T-this never happened!" Tom stumbled over to where the genie stood and knelt before the creature.

"Genie, I wish for you to return me to my own home and that none of...this...ever happened!"

A silence hung over the room.

"Genie? I said I wish for you to return me-"

"No." The genie stared down at Tom, as if staring past the man - through him to the boy's limp form, still lying on the other side of the room.

"...No? But you have to grant my wish - you're a genie for christsakes! Now I want to go-"

"No - I was his genie," the creature said, nodding towards the limp body behind Tom, "Not yours. The child is the one that removed me from the cave. He is the one who took me from my vessel. He is the only person entitled to use my power."

"But...but how do I get home?"

"That," the genie said with a smirk, "Is none of my concern. Goodbye, Thomas Fulp." The genie's body dissolved, its features transforming into vapors once more as its entire form receded back into the little glass bottle. Tom scrambled over to where the vessel lay, intent on preventing the genie's departure, but he was too late. The white cloud disappeared into the tiny container and the cork refastened itself into the opening. Tom pried at the cork with his teeth and hands, using every ounce of strength, but it was no use - he wasn't meant to reawaken the genie. It was not his right.

In a daze, Tom walked out of the boy's room, down the stairs and out of the house. He glanced at the trees planted around the meadow, noting that they had begun to wither and die. Gazing back towards the boy's home, he heard faint popping and cracking sounds as the wooden frame began to rot and collapse. Tom turned and continued to walk towards the woods. As he entered the trees, Tom heard the final crash of the structure tumbling to the earth, entombing the boy within its walls forever. All of the child's wishes were disappearing, now that he was no longer on this earth to enjoy them. A fitting end, Tom thought grimly as he walked back through the trees towards the beach.

Stepping onto the sand, Tom felt the terrain under his feet begin to tremble. Sinkholes appeared all around him and the ocean quickly crept up the beach. Within moments, Tom was already waist-deep in water and attempting to wade away from the shrinking island. Soon the land disappeared from under his feet and he was left treading water, watching the tops of the island's trees disappear into the ocean's murky depths. Other than a few scattered leaves, no evidence of the island's existence remained.

Tom spun in a circle, looking for any spec of land on the horizon. Nothing. He wondered how long a person could stay afloat - Hours? Days? A week maybe? Tom knew he was doomed no matter what he did, and cursed the child under his breath. Refusing to delay the inevitable, Tom stopped kicking and slowly sunk beneath the waves. Despite the light slowly fading from his vision, Tom's mind was perfectly focused. He thought of his wife. He thought of his newborn son. He thought of Newgrounds.

The End.

ALTERNATE ENDING

Refusing to delay the inevitable, Tom stopped kicking and slowly sunk beneath the waves. Seconds away from inhaling the salty brine and completing his last mortal act, Tom felt strong arms around his wrists and neck - he was being pulled towards the surface! After an eternity, Tom burst from his watery tomb and allowed his burning lungs to revel in the salty air. Looking around, he saw two strangers floating beside him, his saviors. Dominicans, at first glance.

"Tom! Hey, Tom!"

Tom looked up at the boat, which had come to rest beside him, and saw an old friend.

"Hello Luis," Tom said, smiling, "Sneaking back into the United States again, are we?"

"Lucky for you, right?" Luis smiled and reached down to pull Tom into the boat. Wrapping a blanket around his wet friend, Luis turned towards the back of the boat where another fellow manned the outboard motor, "Jorge - to Miami!"

Competition closed, keep all discussion in this thread uptil the results come out. Good luck!

requested a BBS mod to lock thread, sit tight.