It hurts.

It hurts beyond description.

It hurts more than I ever thought possible.

"You can't be an artist"

The summer after my high-school graduation has passed me by. It's the first of September now. My parents have sat me down in the living room, shooed my siblings away, and look a fair bit unwell themselves as they say the words I so despise.

They love me.

This isn't a question. It's a fact. They're doing this because they care about me. This is upsetting them because they know it upsets me. And I love them too, I want to do something, anything to wipe away that discomfort from them.

I can't.

Not this. Never this.

"Come on. I think you two are being a bit hasty. Mom, Dad, you've seen the progress I'm making, right? I mean, it's taken longer than I hoped it would-"

My dad reaches out and puts his hand atop my head, ruffling my short hair in that warm reassuring manner that kept my fears at bay more times than I could count when I was a kid.

I'm not a kid anymore though.

"Stop. Taylor… I know…"

He doesn't.

"Your mom and I are very impressed by what you've cooked out in the garage. It's lovely, real creative stuff. God knowns I'd never have managed a lick of it when I was your age. Gears and gizmos, numbers and formulas, all I was ever good with was hard science. So, believe me, I'm impressed, we all are…"

He isn't lying. At least, he doesn't think he is.

We just measure those sentiments in different ways.

"So what's the big deal then? Come on, I know I've hit a few snags here and there, but everyone I've been shopping my stuff around to has given me nothing but praise! I just need to find a good entry level gallery to-"

My mom looks like she's about to cry.

She hugs me.

"Dear, please, just… we know how important art is to you. Trust us, we support you, we want you to keep exploring what you can do. We're even willing to take out more money to keep supporting your work…"

I'm waiting for the 'but'.

"But you need to get serious" my dad says, "you've got a great mind, twice as good as mind, three times more creative, four times better at hitting the books."

I wince at what he's implying.

"I won't do it. I'm not giving up art. Look, I told you, I just need to keep the garage setup for a few more months to hammer out and fine-tune my craft. That's all Just a little more time."

He sighs.

"Little is a relative thing in your world, Taylor. It's been two months and you're no closer to selling any of your stuff than you were the first week. Just give it a rest and focus on a real future for yourself."

My mom looks shocked at how easily the words slip out of his mouth. Even he seems startled for a moment at what he'd said. Just a moment though, then his face goes back to a stoic mask with painted on sympathy.

"You can do great things Taylor. You can help people, I mean, REALLY help them. I thought being an engineer was a rewarding gig, but you? You could become a doctor, no, you CAN become a doctor, and a damn fine one at that!"

I understand where he's coming from. He knows how much I've learnt about anatomy and the human form from just studying up to make better sculptures.

"Dad, you know I want to do something meaningful."

My mom rets her hand upon my shoulder. She's more empathetic, moms usually are, at least that what I figure. Still, even if she doesn't like the conversation, she's clearly picked her side.

"Being a doctor will be meaningful, sweetheart. I know you don't enjoy nitty gritty stuff like that. I know you'd rather do what you want to do, make a splash the way you feel you need to, but that's just not how the world works. If you become a doctor, get good at it, you can make money and help people at the same time! You can support your work, get your name out there, it'll even give you a pretty fun gimmick if you ask me. 'Doctor Sculptor' has a nice ring to it, don't you think?

I shake my head.

She's trying so hard to make this palpable.

I look back to my dad. His face tenses up. I must look real angry right now. Good.

I am.

"You've always said you believed in me. My dreams, my capabilities, everything!"

He sighs.

"Don't get it twisted Taylor. I do. We do. Dreams just don't pay the bills is all. It's nice to have a wish in your heart you wanna see come true, but it's also nice to go to bed after buying a lotto ticked thinking you'll wake up a millionaire the next day once you give those lucky numbers a look."

He's getting out of his seat, he's standing up, he's looking down on me, like he was the one who gets to decide my future.

"You believe in your dreams, right? You think you do, don't you?"

I don't need to answer that.

"Then do it alone. Pack your things, and get out of our house."

I feel like I'm about to vomit.

"What? What's with that look? You said you believed in yourself right?"

He's trying the tough love angle. He thinks hard pain now will save me from harder pain later.

"No more handouts. No more money borrowing. You've got two choices here Taylor: ignore reality and screw your life up because you think you'll wave a magic wand and hit it big… or… do the sensible thing. We've already got the perfect Medical School booked out for you. We're even willing to bankroll your studies. Just stark working towards a real job and it won't matter if your dream comes true or not. You'll be set either way."

If I could hit him, I would.

I can't though.

Him being my dad aside, he's got good strong arms from being a hands-on engineer. And me?

I'm me. A light breeze could knock me over. If I didn't have an episode before that.

"What about what I've worked on so far? Are you just going to junk all my work? Toss it out like garbage."

My mother replies before he can. "Of course not sweetheart! Your dad and I'll buy it all, at your prices too!"

That's a band-aid over an open wound to me. Still, I'm calmer now. Though my dad eyes mom disapprovingly. Good. If this was all scripted nonsense I'd have just walked out of the house.

"In fact, dear, I know how much of a hard worker you are, and I think you'll be happy to know that I've also found the loveliest little art school you can try to minor at!"

"Don't humor them. Taylor can't handle that big of a workload. Medical School isn't a walk in the park, it'll take all of their time as it is."

I turn to my dad. I know he won't support me at this point. And I know I can't survive doing what he wants me to do. So I take the only way out I can.

"Really. Sounds like you were thinking I wouldn't have any time to 'pursue my dreams' at all then?"

"Don't start with me Taylor".

"I thought you believed in me. You said you did. I thought you supported my art. You just wanted me to have a real job."

"Stop putting words in my mouth. You're far too old to be acting like a brat. This is your life, not some toy I'm taking out of your crib. Whining won't change anything."

I know he cares about me. I know he loves me. Mom too.

If I didn't know, I wouldn't have still been there.

"You said you believe in my potential. You said I could do great things if I just applied myself. Did you really believe in all that, or was that just another white lie."

I know they love me, they're still there too, after all.

"Taylor can do it dear. Please…"

I know he loves my mom, I know my mom loves him.

His seriousness evaporates. The room's tension eases up. He looks sad, disappointed.

"I can't believe I'm saying this. Fine. You win. You better prioritize your medical studies though. If your grades drop below a b, that's it, you're pulling out of art school and focusing on medical school full time."

That's fine by me. Art isn't hardship, it's escape.

I already know it'll be the only place I'll find happiness from now on.

"Go ahead, run yourself ragged. You'll see I'm right. Mark my words Taylor, you'll wake up to how the world really is one of these days. I just hope you'll be able to bear it."

I'm getting up and walking out of the house now.

"Just wake up already."

***

When Taylor woke up, they felt the pain again. Physical, harsh, and unending. Their broken fractured bones beneath their skin felt like so much shattered class stuffed inside a tenderized sausage. Between the internal bleeding, bruising, and broken body parts, they were shocked they were even still alive.

"You look terrible, Taylor."

Their eyes darted over to a looming, shady figure peering down upon them, a wry smile upon their lips.

"Jonah?"

He grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"So, you remember me then? Well, a bit I guess. I'm surprised, you seemed pretty out of it while me and Mr. bigshot-boxer were hauling you back inside."

Oh, right, last night… or… was it the night before last night? What time is it?

Taylor tried to blink the sleepiness out of their eyes, shrug off the haze and lethargy swimming around in their head. Taylor failed in that. The sights and sounds around them was just a discordant haze, a faint mirage of external sensations that blurred whenever they tried to process them, like so many raindrops pounding against the ground.

"You aren't here to give me food, right? Save it for someone who'll still be alive tomorrow…"

Johan made a noise at that. Taylor couldn't tell the tone of it. Whatever the case, outwardly, Jonah didn't give off a vibe of being worried for Taylor, nor upset at their condition, nor even indifferent.

He just seemed… happy. About everything, good and bad.

"Don't worry, food can come later. You want to still be of some use right? I figured you would. Well, see, I worked on a new medicine mix, changed the formula up a bit from what Florence cooked up originally. Less than a tenth of the old secret ingredient, less potent, yet, it should still keep the pain down a bit, maybe put a hold on your health's steady decline. If it works, that is.

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Jonah proffered it to Taylor, the medicine sitting squarely in the center of their outstretched palm, held out as close to Taylor's dizzied eyes as could be managed. It seemed like a round smudge…

"A pill? What, did you roll it up in some toffees? And what's with the black coloration?"

Jonah chuckled.

"Oh, just some filler I added in. Core is some of the snake's jellied eyes, outer layer is some black rock dust mixed with… thickener…"

"Thickener?

Taylor could smell it from here. It smelt coppery. It smelt familiar. A smell they'd been well acquainted with as a med student.

"Right. So are you fucking with me, or are you just actually insane?"

"It has some of the same stuff you took in last time, and I'm guessing your last dose has worn off enough that things are starting to become unbearable. I'm betting your already in shock or whatever, idk, I'm not a doctor. So, you can either eat the mystery pill and get some more relief… oooorrrrr… you can stay suffering until Florence comes back and nags me into giving you an unrefined dosage."

…

What the hell is wrong with this guy?

"Fine. I don't have a choice anyways."

Jonah pulled back, closing the hand with the pill in it into a fist, grabbing an opened bottle of water with his other, then bringing the vessel up to Taylor's mouth.

"You'll thank me for this."

Jonah started pouring the water into Taylor's mouth, then deftly shoved the pill in, which the injured youth quickly gulped down before they had a chance to process whatever was actually in it.

The moment they did, suddenly, it stopped. All the pain stopped. The world grew clearer, like something had wiped Taylor's soul clean of so much muck and grime.

"See, what did I say?"

As Taylor's senses returned to a state of uncanny clarity, they did register some of the pill's aftertaste upon their lips. It was coppery, yet, but it also had an electrified element to it. More than that, there was something oddly… woody… about it.

"What… what was in that pill? No, scratch that, what WAS that pill???"

"Magic." Jonah stated proudly, a wistful tone in his voice, "at least, that's what I'm calling it. You've felt the sensation too, haven't you? When that snake looked at us, the numbing, it was a shoe-in for what the raw stuff we gave you earlier was like. I talked my fiancée into making something of its eyes after convincing her I'd gotten some eyeball juice in my mouth when I shanked the thing. Powerful stuff, yet, unrefined. So, I tried refining it. Distilled, purified, mixed with alcohol, 'thickener', and some black glassy lumps I've been finding around the plane."

"I… I suppose penicillin was found by random chance as well. I honestly can't believe you made something so effective by throwing junk together and hoping for the best. And what do you mean by 'black lumps'? You said rock earlier, right? What, have you been outside gathering stones around the plane? Don't tell me things are really that boring after a crash.

Jonah vigorously shook his head, a wide delighted grin spread across his face.

"I found them 'around' the plane. As in, inside it."

"What do you mean?"

"I've been checking every nook and cranny of our home away from home all night and day since we crashed, and you wouldn't believe what I found underneath it. Like, smack dad in the centre-bottomost section. Chunks of the stuff sliced up and through the undercarriage's steel like it was nothing, little fragments scattered everywhere like grenade shrapnel."

"That's… weird…"

"Hehehehehe… oh, it gets better. Watch."

Jonah reached down and into his jumper pocket, pulling out a thin sliver of an oily blackened glass or plastic, holding it gingerly between his right-hand pointer finger and thumb.

"Watch this…"

He quickly, yet steadily, slackened his hold on the sliver of black rock, withdrawing his finger and thumb from its surface… and yet… and… yet….

Holy Shit

It remained in place, levitating between them.

Is it magnetic? No, it'd need to be ridiculously powerful if it was, and at that level of power, it'd be flying to the nearest piece of iron. It's definitely not a trick, there's no way this guy would be that petty, and he doesn't seem like someone who'd enjoy cheap tricks. So what is it?

"See, I figure its magic, or just some sciency stuff humans haven't yet gotten figured out. Either or, it's all the same in the end. I mean, it'd make sense, right? We're on an island that shouldn't exist, after surviving a plane crash that shouldn't have happened. All electronics go kaput, yet this neat new black stuff shows up that holds an electric charge you can feel just by touching it. So, what's your take on it?"

It took a few seconds to register that little inquiry from Jonah, Taylor's mind still racing to figure out what had happened. To process what they'd seen. When they did answer though, it was a simple, straight to the point reply.

"My take is that I can't fathom how you're handling all this so well?"

Jonah burst out laughing, Chest heaving uncontrollably, so taken by the sudden fit that they tripped over, falling backwards onto the floor of the plane, where they rocked from side to side with the deranged energy of an asylum patient.

"That's your take? Do I even need to answer! Because we're free! We're all finally fucking free!!!"

The ambiance of the plane's backend quieted. Deathly so. Every other scrap of chatter hushing, all eyes focusing on Jonah.

"This… this is better… this is so much better…" he muttered as he got back up to his feet. "People's lives so rarely have any meaning, in and of themselves, what they choose to do with them, how they end up spent. This, this is something incredible. Miraculous. Something that makes every life and death of the people of this plane worth a damn. We'll end up in history books, remembered, famous! As soon as we leave, no, before even that, right here, right now, each and every one of us matters!"

Nobody could quite say anything to that. Out of appreciation of the speech or, more likely, out of sheer impression at how absolutely out of his mind Jonah was acting over a floating piece of black stuff.

Wait, where did it go?

"Young man, if I may interject, becoming acquaintances with the impossible is not necessarily a blessing." Sir Redmond interjected, rustling to wakefulness from a nice looking nap they'd been enthralled with only moments ago.

"And I suppose you think you'd know something about this?"

"I do. You'd be wise to heed my words of warning, young sir. What happens now is not something any of us should be celebrating over."

Oooooh no. No-no-no-no-no…

"Maybe. For you. Me though? My perspective-"

"Jonah, listen to me carefully. Don't move…"

Jonah obeyed without question, not even speaking to ask why.

"Someone grab a med kit. We need tweezers. If that fragment's as sharp as you said it was, we can't risk it sliding any deeper inside. Fuck, no, not if. It went through your clothes like nothing. I'm just amazed it isn't sliding down."

Right between his pectorals, the arrowhead sized fragment was buried two-thirds deep into his chest, black tinged crimson red seeping out of the wound.

Damnit. I should've noticed sooner! It's definitely cut his nerve endings, explains why he didn't feel any pain.

"Can anyone get up and go to the med kit? Please don't tell me we're all too badly injured?"

Without saying anything, Sir Redmond rolled himself out of his bed, gingerly worming his way down onto the flood, his roughed up centenarian body wincing with the pain of the acts.

"Just like old times. Too much for my taste. Stay still lad, I'll give you a patch up job lickety split."

As he began shimmying over to wherever Taylor figured the med kit was, they couldn't help but think 'well, at least this can't get any worse…'.

Seconds after, something loud and terrible banged behind the curtains that separated the back end of the plane to the middle section and above. Cries of panic, shuffles of movement, the clangs of clutter and a furious pace of someone sprinting full force against the floor bellowed out in a terrible disharmonic symphony of chaos.

And then one of the plane crew ran past the curtain, spinning around into a kneeling position beside Jonah, aiming a gun forwards towards the center section.

"I don't mean to panic everyone. But I think you've all got the memo that something bad is coming. So… just stay calm… keep quiet… and let me and the pale kid with the knife sort things out. Right, Jonah.

The young man sighed.

"Blake… I don't know if you've noticed… buuuuuuuuuuuuuut…"

The captain's eyes darted over to his compatriot, going wide when he noticed the thumb sized obsidian sliver buried in his chest, leaking a concerning amount of blood.

"How? Why!"

Jonah narrowed his brow in response.

"Okay, you know what, forget it. Everyone gets one 'flaming pizza' moment in their lives. Just help out when tall dark and terrorist-y barges through."

"Oh? So he got out?" Jonah asked, the shard worming its way a bit deeper into him, now at three-fourths in by Taylor's estimate.

"Yeah. A couple of guys went down to his door and were huddling around it. Only just noted, went to check it out, and drew the pistol when they started acting suspicious. I don't like to profile people you know but they REALLY seemed like unruly characters if anyone ever fit the bill. A second later the big guy Sparta-kicked down the door. Now I'm just hoping he keeps taking his sweet time coming over here because by all that is good in this world I really, really don't wanna have to shoot somebody!

Jonah would reply, if they had the luxury of doing so. For now, everyone was obeying the advice of the airplane captain to keep quiet, hoping beyond hope that they weren't about to become witnesses to a fresh new hell aboard this goddamned plane.