A/N: Ok, i know the title and summary are completely stupid, but i really suck at this kind of stuff. I was just going to call it "Alone" but that seems so...boring. Umm...please be kind, as this is my first an only fic at the moment and my self-confidence is messed up like most teenage girls. Anyway, on to (hopefully) better things:
All I can see is white. Blinding, searing white. My eyelids instantly shutter. I slowly open my eyes again and I squint to find that it is already daylight. I rub my eyes to get rid of the black spots in my vision. I look down at my arms and see little bites all over them. Sand flies. The little buggers really love the taste of me. Mumbling to myself about how I got into this mess, I dust the sand off me and stand up. I look left and right. Nothing but sand on both sides. Why does the sight of endless white sand still surprise me? I realize that I am talking to myself. "Talking to your self is the first sign of craziness", I say to nobody.
But you don't have to worry until you start answering. Wait…does this count as an answer? I shake the thought off.
I walk towards the ocean, hoping that the salt water will rid me of the itch of those damn flies. The beach is really quite beautiful today, but when it is all you have seen for three weeks, and the only company you've had, the beauty wears off and the sense of being alone is all that's left. I've lost count of how many hours I would sit on the sand, watching, waiting for some form of vessel to appear and take me from this immense loneliness. Sometimes, in one of my cruel moments, I would hope that a boat full of people would end up stranded, making me solitary no longer. I would always feel guilty about it after though. It was all futile anyway; I was going to die on this island. Alone.
How would it end? Would I die of hunger gnawing at my stomach? Or perhaps I'll crack and drown myself in the ocean? Dehydration? Snake bite? Maybe I'll finish the pitiful excuse of a raft I've been trying to build (which at the moment was some bamboo logs and vines that looked more like an abstract piece of art than a raft) and get eaten by a shark? The more I walked the more ridiculous the 'what ifs' and 'maybes' became. I was up to my eleventh death scenario (it's funny how often I would count random things, just to pass the time) before I realized that I hadn't washed my bites yet. Strangely enough they didn't itch any more.
That is when I hear the noise. My head snaps in the direction of the tropical jungle to my right. I stare into the dark green void for a moment, deciding if I should just pretend I didn't hear it like I had done every other time, or if I should have a little investigation. The last and only time I braved the jungle was to collect the bamboo and vines for my 'raft'. I look around whilst glancing back frequently at the jungle and find a large stick lying a few meters away and pick it up. I'm not going to go in there unprotected. When had I decided I was going in there? With that question on my mind, I advance slowly up the rise of sand that leads to the jungle.
I enter the jungle, and the sudden lack of sun and light makes me shiver, or perhaps it is the fact that I am scared. As I advance, it gets darker and darker, until I can no longer see anything but outlines of trees and bushes. The noise is getting louder, I must be getting closer. I hide behind a huge tree trunk and ready myself for an attack. The sound of crunching leaves is close, so close, and I choose now to attack.
I put all my might behind the swing, and I feel the log hit solidly with…something.
With all the adrenaline pumping through my body, I don't even have the logic to look at what it was I had hit.
All I can see is green. Dizzying blurs of green. It seemed like I'd been running for a long time, but then I realized that I was only meters away from where I had started. I hear a muffled groan from behind me and almost stop dead in my tracks. The knowledge that whatever I had hit was now conscious was so shocking that I become paralyzed with fear. My brain was screaming for my legs to move, but it was as if any connection between my body and my mind had been severed. I hear another groan and a rustle of leaves behind me and finally I will my body to move.
I find a big leafy shrub of some kind and hide behind it. My heart is pounding so loud that I am sure whatever is after me can hear it. All I can see is green. My back is pressed so hard against a tree trunk that it feels as if the bark is molding into my skin. I don't feel the pain though, I am far to scared to feel pain at the moment. I can hear the thing advancing towards me slowly. My mind is racing with terrible visions of monsters and beasts with sharp fangs and red eyes All of a sudden the sound stops. I am too scared to look up, afraid that this thing might be the last thing I ever see. I can smell the wetness of the jungle; feel the moist soil at my feet, the bark in my back, the terror in my heart. I wait for what feels like an eternity, yet the blink of an eye, until I can no longer take it. I scramble forward on my hands and feet and then bolt in whatever direction my feet will take me.
Pain explodes from my right cheekbone as I hit the ground hard. I spit out bitter soil from my mouth and try to wipe the dirt out of my eyes, all while trying to get up. My right arm gives way and I fall again on my face. I try to bite back a sob as I hit the ground again, but it escapes my lips the same time as the stinging tears fill my eyes. I hear the crunch of leaves and soil very close and see a giant foot in front of my face. I hit it with all the force I can gather with my left arm and I am rewarded with a yell and an expletive. Now I know my pursuer is an English-speaking male. I try to roll onto my back so I can kick him where it's going to hurt the most, but as I try I get a foot pressed in between my shoulder blades. My face is once again reunited with the dirt. There is silence for a moment, and I am glad to hear that I am not the only one who is breathing rather erratically, glad to know that I had put up some semblance of a fight.
For some reason, an uncontrollable urge to laugh had overcome all my sense of fear, of pain, of anything. "Well I'm glad you're gettin' a laugh outta all this." An irritated American voice says behind me.
So, I'm getting chased and beaten by a Yankee guy around a jungle…does it get any better than this?
"So, I'm getting chased and beaten by a Yankee guy around a jungle… does it get any better than this?" I surprise myself at my lack of originality. But then, I am face down in the mud with a rather large sized boot on my back, so I cut myself some slack.
I hear the man snicker. I feel two large hands grab my upper arms and turn me over so I am now lying on my back. The man pins me to the ground, his knees on either sides of my legs and his arms holding mine down. I am unable to move. The fangs I had conjured in my mind are really just an arrogant smirk and the eyes are not an evil glowing red, but green. Our faces are very close, and I can see sweat and blood on his. The blood must be from where I hit him. I smile smugly up at him, or at least try to, until I realize I have a split lip. I stare defiantly into his eyes and refuse to let it show that the tips of his dirty blonde hair are tickling my face. I also refuse to talk.
My eyes dart to my left and I see white sand, the very thing that I thought I would be glad to never see again, so I know I'm on the outskirts of the jungle.
They dart back to his face, which still has that damn smirk on it. A lone drop of sweat runs down the bridge of his nose, it hangs on the tip, and stays there for an excruciatingly long time. It falls from his nose in what seems to be a painfully slow speed and lands on my forehead. I grimace and yell indignantly.
He laughs. I snap.
I head butt him in the face and he lets go of my arms from the force of the blow. I scramble away from him and try to make a run for it, well, a crawl for it, and almost manage to until a hand grabs my foot and pulls me back. Twigs scratch me as I am dragged on my stomach towards him. "Let me go!" I yell as I kick frantically with my free leg. "What the hell are you? Some kinda feral monkey girl!" he yells almost comically.
"I swear if you don't let me go-"I'm cut off before I could finish my threat, which no doubt would've been something as immature and juvenile as "I'll kill you" or "you'll be sorry". Perhaps it's a good thing I can't finish it off.
A lot of weight rests on the small of my back, and I feel as though my lungs are going to burst. He is…sitting on me!
"I'm not a couch!" I rasp and gulp for air.
"Well my head aint a damn baseball neither!" he growls, "But you thought it'd be fun to give it a good ol' whack!" his voice grows increasingly louder as he finishes his statement. I try to give a sharp retort but I can barely breathe, never mind argue. He leans forward to try and hear what I was saying, and his weight shifts. I think my ribs are going to crack. His face lowers so that I can see it, an innocent look plastered on it. Don't pretend that you don't know I can't breathe, you pompous bastard.
I spit on his face.
I almost laugh at the transformation. His face, only seconds ago having an insufferable faux innocence, now had a look of utmost shock. I use this diversion as a chance to get away from him. I roll over onto my back, throwing him off me.
I recover quicker than him and run towards where I saw the sand. I can hear him running after me, most likely at a faster pace, considering I am clumsy at the best of times. I am mere meters away from the sand and that sight gives me more speed and numbs the pain that had shot through my body as I started to escape.
Escape. Escape from what? Escape to where? Do I just keep running up and down the beach until either I collapse of exhaustion or he does? Still, I keep running. I feel a hand grabbing blindly for something to latch onto, and I try with desperation to speed up. The sand feels like cement and it feels as though gravity is forcing me slowly down, but I keep running.
I spare a look behind me and have only enough time to gasp in alarm as my pursuer dives and tackles me to the ground. I squirm and turn onto my back and kick him, hard, in the chest. The man's face crumples in agony and he falls face down in the sand. I feel something sticky on my foot, I must be bleeding.
I crawl over to the man and give him the same treatment he gave me, I sit on him. He groans and squirms in pain. Good. Serves him right, whoever he is, for hurting me. I swallow and gulp for air for a moment and finally speak. "Who…are you?" I question breathlessly.
The man has stopped squirming.
Oh god, he's not…I scramble off him and turn him onto his back. I notice a hole in his shirt and a large red patch below his right shoulder. He's been shot. My eyes widen in shock. It's his blood on my foot.
Well...that was it. I'm reallyworried aboutthisbeing total crap, so reviews would be greatly appreciated.I already have the second chapter done, but i'm not sure if i should post it or not. please, please, PLEASE review:)