Christopher’s eyelids slowly, sorely lifted over his red, burning eyes, tears from the irritating smoke falling down his face and onto his belt. Looking down, he stared at his arms. His ears were ringing, and his head moved around, imbalanced as he groggily watched the scene unfold in front of him.
The temperature was unusually hot, and his hands refused to open and close. It took all of the little willpower he could draw through his tired state to bring his left arm down and push on the buckle of his seat. Trying to stand, he stumbled and slipped, the sound of his chest hitting the metal of the floor mixed into the palpitations of his heart that permeated his hearing.
Looking down at his right arm slowly brought him out of his state of shock. He didn’t, no, couldn’t look away. Gradually, the sharp, stabbing sensation in his shoulder increased. His arm was locked in searing pain. At least, what was left of his arm was.
Just above the place the elbow belonged, the arm stopped. There was no blood, no bone, just a charred stump. For the first time on his trip gone to hell, he raised his voice to a shout. “AAAAAAAAAAAHH!” His panicked shout forcefully encompassed the entire environment, but only echoes cared to answer, intercepted by the crackling of jet fuel’s flames melting the steel structure.
Using his one remaining arm, Christopher dragged himself from the flaming wreckage, burning away skin on his knees and palm as he did so, wincing at the pain until he didn’t feel it anymore. His eyes squinting, he held himself up with his hand on the searing sands, and looked in all directions.
In one direction, he had the wreckage of the plane. He was yet unwilling to return to it for supplies, considering the inhospitable heat of the interior. On either side of him was sand. A long beach curled around the bright green of the forest in front of him, the wind accosting the trees perpetually. Looking up, he saw a short mountain peak stand high over the tropical foliage.
Panting in the severe heat, he felt beads of sweat begin to form on his marred skin. “I… need to avoid sweating, don’t I?” Christopher spoke in a subdued, detached voice. The moment the plane had taken a literal turn for the worse, he had let go of all hope for survival.
He stepped slowly through the outskirts of the forest, fearful of any dangerous species of animal that could exist on the island. Looking out over the horizon, he sighed. “No use in expecting anything at this point, is there?” He spoke to himself, if only to keep himself sane. His face looked considerably older to him than it did a few hours ago, when it was still early morning. Looking up into the sky, he established that he was currently moving west, into the sun that was not far from the tumultuous waves of the saltwater desert.
Suddenly, the sun seemed far more intense than it was a few moments ago. Raising his functional left arm to block the sun, he inadvertently turned towards it, and witnessed the light as it fell over the horizon. Clouds above were dyed red by the rays, the light changing the sky’s pigment subtly, from the bright pale blue it was before to the purple transition to red. The red imitated that of the sun as it disappeared, the purple that followed once more being a cold, foreboding color that struck Christopher as he recounted the day’s events, and the fact that he was alone.
“This solitude is not what I wished for.” Christopher mumbled, looking down upon the sand that his feet no longer felt.
He found not the comfort of the stars he once loved. In the place of no cold and no light, he felt he could see forever. The stars crowded the overpopulated sky as if he was looking down on Boston at night, every little point with a different story behind it. Billions were up there, but the only one that was similar to him was outshone by the others.
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“I’ll pick it up tomorrow. I have to survive, after all.” He said as he stretched, lying down on the sand that had considerably cooled.
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Christopher opened his eyes. He was back in that godforsaken place. The endless chatter he heard before his eyes opened all stopped. Those warm, friendly eyes were not the eyes the people looked at him with. The eyes that scrutinized him were the ugly eyes that watched his every move, dissected his every feature as they dug into his skin and found his flaws. He was not human to them.
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He sat up as fast as he could, his ostracizing becoming far worse as he looked around. The only sound to comfort him was the endless crashing of the foreboding waves upon the sand and pulverized seashells. The sky was slowly brightening as the sun rose, unseen by Christopher through the mass of foliage.
“Day 2, is it…” He spoke before rising, his stomach growling and throat burning. “Nngh… need food…” His voice became hoarse and quiet, and he looked down on his hand. The remaining one had already become calloused, leathery, blistered, and burned. He clenched and opened it several times before he continued on toward the mountain.
Every second, the temperate morning became more humid and more sweltering. Christopher had trouble breathing in fully, and he started to feel pain in the place that his right arm didn’t exist anymore. Sweating, bent over, hardly standing up, and suffering from phantom limb pains, all he could do to keep moving was force himself, lest he die. “How pathetic… to be beaten so badly by nature on the second day. I have to live… to get back… to show just how wrong they were, I will return.” He found motivation in his spite, anger, and indignation as he fought himself to continue.
A few minutes felt as though they had been years as Christopher yearned to wet his throat. He had long stopped producing saliva, and even his eyes felt dry.
He almost felt the water when he looked upon the small pond. He fell and knelt before it before diving in, forgetting to care that the water might be contaminated or otherwise dangerous. He sighed in relief as he took in the water, grinning ear to ear.
The water made the temperature bearable as he left the pond, peeling his clothing from his body and heading back towards the beach to hang the articles. He was alone, after all.
He felt a throbbing in his head, but ignored it as it had happened to him before and was never serious. He kept walking, hoping to circle the entire island to understand what his environment was.
Not long later, he was on the eastern side of the island as the sun just began to pass overhead. The view from this side was the same – the mountain near the southern end, the wreckage in the north, and a hell of a lot of saturated forest in between.
Finally, he braced himself and entered the forest. The wet leaves all around him loosened his footing as he struggled through the uncertain terrain full of moisture.
“…Shit.” He thought to himself as he slipped backwards. He expected to hit his head on the ground, but fell through it into a dark, musty, rocky crevasse. The growl that he heard filled him with dread as he forced himself up in his sorry state, lowering his waist and raising his hand into a pseudo-combat stance, ready to drive off any beast that might make a meal of him.
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Author's Note:
My writing style remains inconsistent.
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