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In the End
Author's note: I have wanted to a write a piece like this for years, and I feel I am doing a fairly good job.
My name is Lex Slaiter. I am a villain, an outcast, a runaway, and also a detriment in a long lost nation called The United States. In my earlier years I found myself in juvenile detention a lot. It was only petty crimes, but breaking the law is still illegal no matter which law you break. Most would say it wasn’t my fault, but I knew right from wrong. I knew the things I did were bad. I couldn’t help it! Growing up on the wrong side of the neighborhood was not easy. I was surrounded by gang violence, rape, and murder. It all ended in the same place, prison.
Prison found me three years ago to this very date. My story of how I ended up here is much like the other inmates. I pleaded not guilty at my trial because I wasn’t guilty, just like every other inmate who had the nerve to plead the same way. I kept a gun in my car, for my safety; and one day I was driving to a gas station down the road from my apartment. Well apparently I went a little crazy and shot up the place. I killed two people. I pleaded not guilty do to the fact that I was mentally insane. I could not control my body, as a matter of fact; I cannot recall any of my wrong doings.
My sanity has honestly eluded me. My judgment clouded. Then finally my conscience disrupted by constant feuds between right and wrong. So that puts me in solitary confinement, in cell block E of Eastwood prison. That’s my life’s story so far, but it was soon about to change.
Cell block E was like any other cell block, metal doors, little company, and small windows. The difference was the pillow covered walls and the constant suicide watch from the prison guards. Then all of your normal prison rights are gone. There is no visiting at all, no letters, no contact what so ever. So one day I was sitting in my cell twiddling my thumbs waiting for my next meal. Then the head guard, Officer Brady Beerman, walks in my cell and tells me I have a visitor from the government. I shrug because it makes no difference to me, granted the only people I have seen in the last few years were doctors and prison guards. Then the Officer leaves and I wait a couple of minutes, for my lack of time in the cell, I will say ten minutes. With no notice, a man walks in my padded room, with an expensive suit and a fancy neck tie to match as his attire. I wanted to ask the man what he wanted from me; because anybody dressed that fancy in a nut house has to be black mailing or trying to invest in something he wants.
The mystery government employee said his name was Lee Grant, and he was here for an investment. He spoke almost like he could read my mind, but his investment was nothing to be happy about. Grant said he was here to offer me freedom, and money. What man could say no to that after three years in the crazy ward? His deal or in my case parole was simple in concept and hard in execution. He simply wanted me to play a game. This game consisted of being stranded on a remote island in the pacific. This island has never been touched, its wild life the most dangerous ever seen, its climate the most unpredictable. I just had to survive; I know how to survive the wilderness. That’s when he threw the catch in; I would be on this island with fifteen other people from all over this very town, the town of Eastwood Virginia. Wilderness I can deal with but the people will be the death of me!
The game was survival, the rules were simple, no rules. It’s the start of a new society with a no government policy, anything goes. I didn’t have to kill these other fifteen people, but it’s an option not to. This will be so morally defining. I sat in my cell contemplating while Grant stood waiting nervously for my response. The only answer was yes. I nodded my head and that was enough for Grant to take out the paper and make me sign on the dotted line. It felt like selling my soul for freedom, but what choice did I have. I was handed my invitation and Grant left. The deal was for me to be dropped on the island tomorrow. This brings me to the present. Grants deal also stated that I would be logging my experience in a computer. I will be putting my feelings and experiences into this. There will be nothing left out. Well I have to stop logging. This is entry log number one for Operation Castaway. Lex Slaitor signing off.
Chapter One- Bat Country
The neon bright sky shines over my eyes waking me from the jump to the supposedly soft sand. Then I reach my arm up toward the helicopter as it flies off into the already rising sun. There is no going back now. My new life has started; and my future does not look as tempting as it did in the solitary prison cell. I jerk my body up to regain my bearings, but only to find a tropical paradise at my disposal.
My eyes can’t help but stare at the beauty of the surrounding wild gardens of fruit bearing plants and over grown exotic flowers. The colors are so vibrant and delicate, and the fruit look’s so sweet and tart at the same time. I would suggest I entered a new Eden but the operation only explains hell. I cherish the sight of every bird taking off for first morning flight, and every moment a wild cat growls at the noise. Waves crash against the sand, only to stir me from my mid-morning trance.
The realization of being stranded had never occurred to me until now. I was too eager to leave prison for the repercussions to even strike fear into me. Now it all comes crashing down, everything I had not thought of appears right here, to be laid out in front of me. Endless possibilities of disaster, corruption, mayhem, intense brutality; what am I to make of this? Was this my fate; or a really bad gesture of false intentions? Well it’s my future, and I will find out soon.
There are just so many things to configure into this whole scenario, and I relish the fact that it all doesn’t jump at you right when you hit the beach. I have time to mature a little before I get smacked down by intense speculations. It wouldn’t be an experiment if they had it all laid out. I just wish I had a path to walk, my own type of yellow brick road. Then again the obvious would not be fun; and neither would be hand holding.
I catch a glimpse of soft footsteps heading into the jungle, only to be halted by hard rocky terrain. My expectations for complacency with person to person reaction were very low. They seem to be everywhere though; or at least something seems to be everywhere. It looks to me to be a woman walking soundly crossed the plain. I am crazy so who knows, obviously not me.
My arms flail as I run into the jungle hitting every vine and catching every fly that jumps in my way. Then the humid air fills my lungs making it harder to breathe as I run; so I even my pace to match the miserable day. Sweat pours off me, and I take my shirt off to keep cool. I keep running but find no trail. It might not even have been there.
At this point I could be chasing demons into the jungle. My own demons are the ones that haunt me at every turn, every second I breathe. They are the dysfunction in my past, the corruption of my future. What can I do; I have no angels cast down to look upon my dark path. No guiding light into the ever growing darkness. I stand for every person who has made a mistake and can rise up from the ashes to do well for the world. Unfortunately my critics have been falsified with my progress in my own belief. I have not risen up out of the ashes yet, but I will.
This is Bat country, a place where people are placed when they have done wrong. Holy people call it hell, unholy call it life. It’s both to me, a harsh reality. I can only hope to correct myself, and eventually leave Bat country for a better place. I don’t know right from wrong yet, I’m relearning the basis of living in a society. The functions of having relationships, and the feeling of emotion; it’s all brand new again; I guess that’s why I’m clinically insane.
Clouds move over the sun shading the jungle enough for the temperature to drop. I stop running just in time to feel the cool breeze; and like a spark of inspiration, I start running again, but this time motivated. Wind speeds past every tree, and every low branch; it almost wants to challenge me. I have enough sense to not over pace myself until I’m gasping for air, but it’s so tempting to get to my undecided destination. Why am I rushing? I have all the time in the world.
I feel so overwhelmed about my first contact outside the prison walls. It scares me to know that there are people on this island crazier than or just as crazy as me. If I know myself as well as I think I do; and these people are like me, then I might run into some issues in a couple of hours. They could be doing anything right about now, nothing bad I hope. At this point I have genuine concern for my safety.
The jungle breaks into an open field, with lavender running wild. I break down at the smell of the sweet lavender plant; it brings back the fresh aroma of gardens in the city and lavender crawling alongside the railroad tracks. I begin to have flashbacks of the city, only good ones. The oak trees fill every vacant lot, yet they are only sprouts. Elderly maples sleep near the buildings. Wild flowers run the underground taking every open area possible. I shake my head, refusing any more memories of the good life.
It does no good to encourage wandering thoughts of leisure. The past is the past; nothing remains pleasant in the future. Flowers just bring up good memories; they’re the only ones I have. Violence fogs the rest, leaving pain to suffice. I stand up from the seductive smell of the wild lavender gardens. Then walk past the plants, looking for other interests.
Mounds of dirt settle around open patches on the ground, where the tall sundried grass sits. I walk past, in dire need of water. There comes a point in which a person definitely needs water or they die. I am so close to my breaking point; and it looks like I have to cross a desert. My only saving grace is a rain dance with every footstep I take.
The road to water cannot be far, I’ve worked so hard to get here. It all depends on will power; how much are you willing to give up getting to your goal? I need this! It’s my only need, my one true kryptonite. You got to have it, it’s necessary to survival. I will die without it; yet my only dream is to have it fall from the sky.
The heat picks back up only to worsen my condition. There is only one explanation for all of this, punishment. The thought of torture ran through my mind a billion times with every step toward the shaded jungle. It could pass as a reward for making it past the grassland desert. I am almost to the point of crawling, and hallucinations of beautiful desert oasis occur. My mouth drops to the site of rapid flowing water running down to my body, and coconut drinks sitting along the side of the pond. Then I drag my body into the jungle interrupted from my fantasy.
Smells of moisture and dew come from every direction. My desperation becomes well known, and all matters of pride are set aside. I’m not below begging for water, it may be what saves my life. I look in every direction, and then find hope. Water begins to pour out the side of a rock just north of where I’m standing. I realize I have been saved.
The soft eroded ground cushions my steps toward the much needed water. My hands dip down, maneuvering around the pond trying to cuff enough to drink. Then I finally slurp the delicious fresh liquid into my dry mouth. My lust for water subsides but my enormous headache continues. The only saving grace I can think of is the fact that my headache would have been worse later if I had not found water now.
Now replenished, and refocused; my plains have changed. A luxury spot on this vacant island must be found. I have lived in poverty for too long to submit to any inferior design of a shelter. The shelter, however, will be made out of bamboo and palm fronds. Those make it sturdy, and durable; but at the same time open to any tropical storms in the island’s domain. Let’s face hard facts; nobody survives island storms in these kinds of waters.
My chances for survival lesson every minute I’m on this island. Yet it begins to feel like home and kind of familiar; almost like I have been in this exact experience before. If I only knew how similar it all really is; this place is my new prison. It all seems luxurious at first, more room, more interaction, more food; but it’s a joke! Both places are the same! I have been taken from a higher security prison; and have been placed in a lower level security prison. Grant sure pulled a fast one over my eyes.
Muscles in my legs ache from the walking, and they are in dire need of a bed. Every bone hurts, every ligament squeals when it stretches; and there is no time for a break. When I finally get to relax, I won’t know what to do with myself. It will be my own little piece of heaven. I grab the ground and lift myself up, pushing with only my upper body.
The first thing I need is something to keep water in. A coconut would work for now. I take one off the ground and press it against the cold pond water; it fills about half way. Then I take the coconut and carry it up against my chest. The water is too valuable to drop, so it has to be secure; when it is, I begin walking all over again.
Somehow the jungle looks all the same, but I know for a fact it is a different part of the island. It was made this way, too hurt, rundown, and confuse. The confuse part is really what gets me, it upsets every nerve in my temple; that being the temple that functions my every move. Rain drops hit my face until I come to a complete stop. Then I try to find cover under the tree top canopy, unfortunately there are holes in the leafy big top.
Rain on the first day is bad luck. That’s just what I needed, a hex put on me for my future. This day has to get better at some point; and when it does, well I will probably be sleeping. The rain puddles up on the already mud fulfilled terrain. I embrace the feeling of getting dirt all over my body; because it is bound to consume me.
In this moment the only thing that consumes me is remorse, and regret. I regret coming here, and disapprove my actions of similar quality to pathetic school children running from their daily imprisonment. I hate what I did! I am simply running from my fate in order to create a new one. The idea of being a coward is weighing me down. That is what I am; no one can tell me different.
Self-loathing is what inmates usually do; and I am no exception to that idea. This was my freedom, my second chance, and my unusual new start. I didn’t realize until now, but my cowardice personality is what brought me here. My horrible fight or flight instinct that has me running from my past corrupted my thought process at the time being. Now I have done it again, another cowardice deed placed in my record book. My redemption is far from my own grasp anymore.
My hands run through my sopping wet hair, untangling the fray. Then I pat my clothes assessing the damage; but the canopy covered the area fairly well. So I walk further into the storm, hoping for the same luck. The glimmering ivy vines travel up every new tree I find; and my feet hit every rock I come across. The jungle remains undefined in its marveling beauty.
This jungle is more than what it appears to be, something strange seems to be going on here. It has an alluring vibe to it that makes me want to stay here forever. It has some sort of seduction masked with beauty just to entice people to stay. If it were in America, I have a feeling people would line up just to walk through it. The plants have similarities to a botanical garden.
The vegetation is absolutely amazing by itself. There are so many different kinds of fruits and vegetables to choose from. Some could be altered though; it really isn’t worth taking a risk over it. These things could be the new Venus fly trap; so beautiful to look at, but deadly in the end. Then again, this whole place is really going to be deadly in the end.
That’s really the catch isn’t it; getting out of here alive, or somewhat unscathed. The chances of that happening are so few. This whole thing is mental; so they really didn’t pick the best candidate. That was probably their idea. They throw a crazy guy into a survival situation where he will probably be driven even more insane. What the hell were they thinking?
I walk straight out of the jungle and onto a white sand beach. The beach looks inviting, so I throw my shoes off and expose my blister covered feet to the wet ground that instantly sticks in between my toes. Then I put my shirt back on; because the humidity all but goes away leaving me to deal with the ice cold splashes of salt water from incoming tidal waves. This place would be perfect for a shelter. After all, it looks shaded from the sun, and not too far from the water. This place is perfect to call home.
The warm feelings people get when they have something good happen to them is how I feel right now. This place is what I was looking for, and it really didn’t take me that long to find it. I look at my beach a little closer to find coconut covered palm trees formed in a triangle, about ten feet apart from each other. The basis for a shelter jumps in front of my face. Then I fall to my knees embracing the moment.
It was a long journey to get to this point; though time wise it really wasn’t long at all. It felt like a year of traveling from one beach to another. Through the whole journey, this beach is the only thing that truly touched me in a way to make me a better person. I understand now that I had a hard journey to get the luxurious reward in the end. All endings don’t end like this one; that is why it is so critical for me to be thankful that this one did.
The cold night air pushes past my body lying on the white sand beach. The sun has not come up yet; and more sleep has yet to be had. The problem with the whole thing is I cannot sleep when I am shivering just to keep my body temperature even. This whole concept of a tropical island makes no sense to me when the temperature drops in the middle of the night. It’s sad but I am going to be begging for humidity by morning.
Each hour passes second by second; every minute longer than the last. There is no way to explain sleep deprivation in this type of circumstance. It just comes naturally and with no warning I might add. I want to sleep, it just won’t happen. I’m not nervous of anything, or even excited; not that there is much to be excited about in a place such as this. There might be such a comparison to jet lag off an airplane in a foreign country.
I roll over, hoping for sleep to consume me. Minutes pass; and the ever glowing moonlight fades into the pitch black night. Then the wind finally dies down enough to stop begging for day to come. There really is nothing to beg for in the first place; just a luscious spirit fulfilling blue sky that brightens any dark day. We don’t have those! I have only been here one day. That was a hot miserable day; I should have known night would bring the worst out of anything. What can I expect for tomorrow?
If I could change the past, then none of this would have happened. I would be a free man, to do as I please, to walk where I please, to talk how I please. It’s all within an arm’s reach now; and nothing will stop me. Nobody has walked a mile in my shoes. It was a tough life growing up; I should be happy I haven’t done anything too bad. That I did sane anyway; and let me tell you I have been insane for a while.
My eyes slowly shut; embracing the black night, giving in to the dark, dreaming of the morning blue. Dark silhouettes dance conspicuously around the palm tree trio, my soon to be home. Casting chants at it, raining some vicious voodoo that I obviously want no part of. My first impression is demons, but they look like the dead. They could possibly be previous owners of this fine establishment. It sparks my interest immediately; and I begin to feel drawn to them, like their pulling me over to chant with them. I have no reaction, for I will not be corrupted so easily. There persistence is relentless. I start to feel weak all over.
The words appear to have power over my body, moving parts on my body without my acceptance. They flail my limbs in different directions trying to achieve something. Words leave my tongue that I had no idea I knew. Screams parade out of my mouth controlling every other dancer’s actions. If I had no concern, now would be the time to overreact. They control me again; I have no time to refuse govern over my body.
The dead begin to move their mouths, but no words come out. Then they start to walk in the other direction away from the palm trees. I think they expect me to follow them, but I have no desire too. Then my body speaks for itself and walks step by step toward the group of the dead. I pick up a knife, specifically placed in the middle of the trio; then start walking again, following but never leading the dead. My pace matches theirs directly, almost like a marching order; and all of this begins to feel real similar. I have been in marching orders before, you know, back in prison.
The dead have silent footsteps that go undetected in the jungle surrounding their parade; and nothing seems to know they exist except me. I could be the only one creating their existence; and that is corruption itself. The cult of the dead leads me further into the jungle, disappearing into every shadow and reappearing into every ray of moonlight; twisting my point of view further. They cast voices into my thoughts, disturbing the already disturbed. My emotions begin to cloud my judgment; and I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
Their bodies begin to fray with every second in the light. Then they start to crumble beneath their own feet. This could have happened earlier, so why didn’t it? Nothing makes sense anymore; it is all a game to side track me. My body loosens from their tight grasp. I feel free and with ownership of my own maneuverability. The feeling slowly fades as my dead captors build their bodies back up in front of my dazed eyes. I try to run; but once again too late.
My own captivity is what fuels me to get away from literal captivity. I urn for freedom; but I just get chained down. The hope that is left standing is very slim; and I don’t know if it’s enough to get me through. Before it was just prison, now captured by the dead! The worst has come, and once again without warning. With corruption at bay; my sanity is diminishing. The hope left standing is that I have a chance for a new life; granted by my own self related catalyst.
I look at the reforming dead, disgusted by what I see; and appalled that nature has allowed for such an abomination. There was no logic in allowing such a dirty deed. The sight would make children cry; and grown men wince. It’s not at all human; and only the government would place human beings on an island with a creature like these. I want off the island! Someone get me out of here!
The dead dance again, only this time circling me. This worship is satanic; I refuse to be a part of it! Why can’t I govern my own body? I would run as far away as possible, then regain my bearings, and then run further. There is only one way out of something like this. I am going to have to give in, and then push myself out. The dead have their matches set.
I collapse onto the ground, waiting for their next move. They stand there expecting me to get back up; but I don’t flinch. Then they carry out their dance once again; I cannot shake them. This will never end! One giant nightmare comes to life, again without warning. Why does this place haunt me? Have I done something so bad, so evil that I deserve torture without bail? I don’t understand; and I don’t think I ever will.
My body begins to reflect their motions once again. This time I cave, not even putting up a fight. It’s over; I’m done fighting for a dead cause. With no help; there is no hope. I have decided to let the dead have me. Corrupt my body, and mingle with my past; changing me into one of them. The hopeless, the damned; you pick! It is what I am now. Nobody can change their race against fate. I’m done dealing with forgotten loyalty. I have been loyal to the cause; and with no help, what do I do? I break down! I give in! It’ what both want! I feel like I am being ripped into two half’s. Good versus Evil and good left a long time ago.
The time has come to choose between right and wrong; and I’m not ready to answer. I won’t be for a long time. The dead pick my body up and carry it to a grass circle surrounded by sand. My eyes swipe side to side accessing the situation; and it is not good. One of the dead picks up a stake and places it in both of my hands. Then I sit up staring at the bodies. They turn and look directly toward the stake. Then their faceless faces become all too real. Their facial structures begin to morph into actual faces instead of shadows. I look away intent on not seeing that reconstruction again.
Their faces form; and I just stare. They look so similar! How can this be? They died a long time ago. Their right in front of my face and I cannot believe this. This is my chance to right the past. Their faces stare at me right back. I reach up and touch them, wanting answers for how it’s possible. They pull my hands off their faces and grab the stake. Then shove it into my heart, watching the blood pour out. I try to think, but vengeance is all that can be thought of. I did it to them so it’s only fair. My mouth fills with blood, and I cough it out. I start to reach toward them; and their faces disappear. Then they glide back into the shadows leaving me to die on the grass circle.
My head starts to spin. The blood loss is beginning to take effect. I grasp the ground, counting every throb through the hole in my chest; wanting to go sooner, but not being granted my dying wish. The night sky appears to be brighter, and the moon seems to fade. Morning has time to come, and I may see it for the last time. Sunrise is far more beautiful through dying eyes. Every breath taken in and out is weightless. The wind is ice cold, and the heat is feverish. I will go soon.
My eyes burst open through another black nightmare filled night. Only to be greeted by a bright blue sky. I reach up and wipe the sweat off my brow, concerned for my safety. There is nothing around me, there never was. The repetitive heart race is over; and nothing dead was ever near me. I just don’t get dreams, or their meanings. All though, that one will always be held extra special to me; it obviously means something. That something better not happen soon.
I stand to my feet admiring the ocean. There is nothing more beautiful than a rising sun over curvy water bliss. Not even the wild flowers getting grazed by the swarming blue birds. Not even the splash of coconut water against my cool soft lips. These things cannot be taken away, not even through a nightmare. If they can, just try me!
Thirst strikes my body as I turn to find shade. Then I reach for a coconut, finding bliss, and satisfaction. I turn to stare at what looks like a body; but then it disappears only to encourage my wild imagination. I am seeing things again. This won’t help anything! The thought of more people actually being here begins to become more lucid.
There are only so many times a conversation can be said; and I have had the same conversation going in my head for the last few days. I just feel so alone. Nobody is around to keep me company; who knows when I will mentally break down. It just seems so cruel to place a person on an island by their self. Who does that? Grant, that’s who, I despise that guy. Why would he do this to me?
The thought crosses my mind a thousand times; I still can’t find an answer. There are just so many boundaries to cross for this to happen. They think because I was in prison they can do whatever they want to me! Well that’s not humane. My whole world as I know it has been flipped upside down. My life was supposed to change; but they keep me in solitary isolation. This is just a bigger hell hole then what I jumped out of. They tricked me; and I don’t like it.
I watch the sun cast shadows across the white sand through the blanket of palm trees. Nothing moves in or out of sight; and only the birds can be heard from the beach. The water splashes on my legs; I just sit there getting soaked. Sand cushions my hands; they would get raw from scraping the grains without it. I begin to get comfortable, not wanting to move a muscle. The whole spiel is similar to what I have done pretty much every day since I have got here. Nothing changes without friendly faces to influence difference.
Days pass, hours fly by, and minutes laugh in my face; or at least that’s how I have feel. It is just so slow over here. I feel imprisoned in my own mind; and being prisoner to your own conscience is a scary thought. It has been pretty well established that I can do just about anything I put my crazy mind too. Now that type of thinking is influencing my every move. My insanity is near breaking point.
The sun bakes my skin, burning it, and blistering it. I roll into the shade feeling the pain, and getting excited to feel something. My emotions seem to fade as the silence begins to reign. This has become difficult to live with. I’m not going to lie; suicide has crossed my mind a few times. That would really shake things up for them, now wouldn’t it?
I just wish I could come back to reality, knowing the things I used to know. That’s obviously not possible; and after this incident, they won’t even want to take me off the island. I know nothing about living in a society. I couldn’t even live in it my first time through it. Why would I sign myself up for this? It is not me; it’s the corrupted agreeing to corruption. It is I giving in further, looking worse, and gaining nothing. I know I have said it a million times; but what the hell is wrong with me?
The trees become a throw pillow to my sore back as I lean against my cozy palm. Groans seep from my mouth as I turn; my back is seriously sore. I don’t know what I did to it, as I think harder the sun reminds me of my stupidity. Burns cover my body from head to toe, and everywhere in between. There is no aloe, so my burns will remain inflamed. That’s just my luck!
My body appears to grow thicker the more days I spend with the tropical paradise allusions. Yeah paradise is one perspective, the food is heavenly. I have not complained once about the food; because I do love coconut. There is nothing better than coconut water and a shady spot under some palms to watch the ocean take its anger out on the helpless white sand beach. If you think of something tell me!
The sad fact of living alone is that you can only complain about it to yourself. It turns into an internal conflict between what you want and what you need; and at this point I don’t care because all of them will be needs real soon. So the conflict is really just an argument between all the right answers; like I said before, I am going crazy! Talking to myself is one thing; but completely arguing is a way different. There is just no turning back from this experience. The damage has been done!
It’s not really funny but I have considered mutiny. That’s bad when you’re the one in charge, no wait, that’s bad when you’re the only person there! It feels like a constant circle of confusion; I know I am losing everything. Other people would lose their composure by now; well I didn’t have composure to begin with; so give me credit. No wait; credit would be surviving on the island for this long, just give me my freedom!
My body begins to shake; I’m breaking down all over. Sweat drips off my face onto my arms as I lay my head on them. Tears slowly emerge, and heavy breathing following the quick tears. I grab the sand and throw it at the palm trees, then I stand up and wipe the tears from my face; pretending nothing happened. I am a man; men don’t cry. I think about how all the guys from prison would have stood there and pointed and laughed at my invulnerability. There is no more breaking points.
I constantly think about how I could end it all; but then constantly remember that living is the price that I must pay for my past. My wrong doing brought me here; it keeps me here all the same. The shame keeps my lungs pumping, and the guilt keeps my blood flowing. I just wish I had a person to compare tragedies; after all, that is what my life is. A tragedy, the one thing people die to hear; and nobody could ever know the cost of that one person’s epic tragedy, most of the time it is there life, this tragedy has to end differently. I have no choice.
I take off running into the jungle, not knowing what I am doing. I can’t think clearly, or process my intention. The unknown possesses my body controlling my actions; I am just along for the ride. It could be dangerous, life threatening; and I won’t care until it happens. There is my basic need for thrill, but finding adventure instead; what an epic tragedy. It has to be what is right for me, nothing less than a fight to be free.
It becomes clear, hunting down the enemy. The one who talked me into being thrown into this place; casted me into a demon filled hell. The guy, who cheats every person out here, persuades helpless victims with their own personal lust. Grant he won’t survive if he steps foot on this place. His domain has been confiscated. I own it now, took control, erased his law and created my own. I dare him to mess with me now. Just try me!
The jungle hides the way I came from, and the maze devours its victim a second time. Time will be important, I only have so much; it’s my life or death. The water, the heat, the creatures, the nightmares, the lack of food! I panic, not wanting a second round with the elements. The first didn’t go in my favor. I have doubts about round two, or even survival.
The point of no return has long passed, and the only thing pressing me forward is that I cannot remember the way back. It’s not safe, here or there really. Not even on my own paradise beach; and it seemed secure, until the nightmares hit. The true reality could be that the whole island is insecure, no that’s fact. It is my job making it secure for myself. I created that nightmare, it has to mean something. Well my witch hunt continues.
A hunt is a maniacal way of putting it. I’m searching for the truth, or creating my own answers. It doesn’t matter either way; I’m dependent on either one. I tell it straight; the only thing I’m finding is circles to jump through, or tails to chase. Although it does feel like I have found the beaten path. My one direction that goes straight instead of taking endless left turns. It’s too bad that it disguises itself so well, what could I suspect from fate?
I stop walking and crouch down to catch my breath and keep the blood flowing through my aching body. The pain throbs through every ligament in my knees, and my calves’ burn with every step. My desire to soldier on weakens, and the need to push through the pain heightens. Stone cold will is what makes me pursue this journey so hastily. I don’t know if I have any left, as it slowly burns away.
Thinking tough is what caries my weight through this journey; and tough only lasts until tough is beaten down. I just wonder how much lower I can slip before I pick myself up. How can I defeat others until I stop defeating myself? I determine the outcome of every misdirected footstep, or corrupted thought, or confused gesture. There just seems to be two sides of me and I can’t tell them apart. There the same, and yet they think so differently. Face it; I have gone insane.
A voice shreds through the wild animals arguments, and carries into my ears. Words, sounds, tones, they all sound so real; it can’t be true. I fall to my knees again; wanting a human body to run through the bushes and shriek at their discovery. Nothing happens, and no words are clear or understandable. I can’t even make out the type of language it is; all I know is that it is getting closer. Then I pick up a few of the words. Insane, crazy, delusional, the words ring my ears and provide answers I already have. They are nothing I don’t already know; about who is the question though?
I turn toward the voice and see nothing; it whispers secrets that only I should know; things I have never told anybody else. Pressure holds down my temples and earlobes, forcing pain through my head and words that create images of pure evil. I collapse to the ground, spinning in circles listening to the voice corrupt and scare. I can only imagine the voice as a person similar to my own picture. The guy has been wronged in so many ways that he portrays wrong, and speaks only of dismay. It feels like my other half; the one who was left in prison to rot and die with the psychologist.
The voice is clear now, forcing me to believe that silence is the enemy. I listen to it speak, not controlling my own mouth; but words come out. “Lex, what are you doing?” It questions my intentions; how do I respond to nothing? I retort back unclear on my own intentions. “I am searching for answers!” The voice hesitates as I move my lips. “Why do you look for answers when you already know the truth?” My patients wear thin, and I grow angry over the questions that appear to have dual meanings. “Stop asking questions; answer mine now!” My lips stop moving, and I retaliate with my own questions. “Who are you? I can’t see you; so how do I know if you even exist.” The voice regains command, and out sterns my voice. “You know me, like I know you. We are perfect for each other Lex.” I shake the pain out of my temple; then raise my eyebrows toward the sky curious to find the voice. There is nothing but bright blue, and gray clouds; two things that don’t belong together.
My eyes cross over the tall brown and green trees searching for the mysterious voice; but there is nothing out of the ordinary. It just disappeared, without a warning, with no way to track it down. I can only wonder how fast you have to be to speak clearly and flee without ever being seen. This just doesn’t make sense, not that anything else really has either. I don’t know what to do, or even where to start looking. The voice was cast from all around me in every direction, and my head was spinning also. How will I find the voice; and better yet who is the voice?
The voice could be any number of things, and I have a decent amount of hunches. There is one substantial thing that stood out to me, and it was that his voice sounded almost like mine. I couldn’t tell though; I was spinning so damn fast. It was like a sickness or a plague; it swept through, did its business, and then disappeared. The timing of the whole thing was too perfect. I almost feel like if I got the voice to come out into the open field, then I could identify it.
I begin to get weak at the thought of dealing with the sickness of the voice once again. It has to be done though, to get results anyway. The spinning and the dizziness is too much to deal with; that will have you down for a while. This just being the truth of the matter, how is all of this even possible? That’s the thing, it’s not! Nobody just disappears, or has a voice without general direction. This is a huge mess, and I know who to blame it on.
Every second I spend out here in the jungle, my intentions get less and less clear. Why did I even leave my beach paradise? There are no more people out here. That voice is just my imagination messing with my already worn down conscience. I guess it would be good if I headed back to the beach. Now the problem would be finding my way back. Let’s see, navigating the stars, or animal tracks.
The trees block every way I look, so I can only see a few feet in front of my face. Their branches scrape and claw at my skin; they want to hurt me like everything else in this world. The sun still seems to find a way to burn through the tree tops and raise blisters on my shoulders and back. Then the wind blows past my ears only to cause burns all over my ear lobes. This day keeps getting better and better.
The beach can only be so far back, and I have this feeling I am getting close. I keep walking past the trees, and then past the rocks, and the bushes; nothing ever changes in the scenery. The temperature stays the same, blistering hot. Then the humid air travels down my throat only to make me cough and hate this place even more then I already do; but hey what can I do, that’s being stranded for you. Now that I think of it; I have been stranded before, in many ways caged to my emotions and dead personality.
Light starts vanishing in front of the trees; and I know dusk is approaching. My eyelids get heavier, and my body harder to push. The energy I once had is all but gone, the need to press forward only remains. Too bad it is a dead cause, forgotten and without need anymore. Let the jungle take me, my sanity is gone! I don’t have reason to live. They have taken everything from me.