The Forgotten Island

CHAPTER SIXTEEN:

LAND HO!

-Arya-

Date: 32 days at sea

About a week has passed since the packages mysteriously appeared, and since then things have only gotten stranger. a few days after the packages, a ship showed up. it was eerie and beautiful, something straight out of a history book. it was clearly abandoned, and we made no attempt to board it, preferring to let its haunted deck stay undisturbed. today we saw another life raft, it got so close we were able to bring it in and attach it to ours. the smell…it was awful, I had to cover my nose to keep from gagging and I’ll never forget it. The raft held bodies in different phases of decay, their skin looking like it was melting right into the raft. I couldn’t even tell how many there had been. we salvaged what we could of clothing and supplies before letting the raft loose. Everyone is on edge, the clouds have a green tint overhead, the morning mists looking like an odd form of moss.

Date: 35 days at sea

I dreamt of Blake again last night, it was much better than the real thing at least. I wish I did not have lingering feelings for him after what he did. I wish I had another crush, to help my mind cling to anyone but him. To make matters worse, I can’t touch myself with so many people able to see me, and I have started having wet dreams. I wake up with my crotch drenched in my own cum, and I am ashamed at my bodies adolescent reaction. Gods, I probably smell like an entire porta-john by now. How does Fish have sex out here, with no way to clean ourselves properly? His balls must smell awful. I wonder if blake made it off the ship alive. Could any of the other life boats be out here with us?

Date: 37 days at sea

we are close to running out of food, maybe two to three weeks left, if that. We have to start spacing out our meals for longer periods, no more eating every day. I feel so weak it seems all I do is sleep anymore. At least my dreams are pleasant, it’s a different man in my dreams than blake; its more beast than man really. He has horns and looks at me like I am his prey, but his lips and hands on my body send my dreaming self into a paradise not found upon waking. yesterday I made seaweed belts for fish and I. we have lost so much weight our pants won’t stay up even when rolled. she sleeps next to Darrell exclusively now and he holds her close when she shivers at night. I feel so alone. Have mom and renee moved on from my ship’s accident? I hope so, they deserve peace.

Date: 42 days at sea

will these journals be all that is left of me? will anyone even find it? we fished today hoping to drag out our food supply. we caught a few but they all looked strange with green scales, too many eyes and elongated teeth. we threw them back, unsure if they were safe to eat. Why is everything becoming green?

Date: 54 days at sea

Cressida is dead. we found her body this morning when the sun rose. she was so thin Daryl didn’t even struggle when he picked up her body and put it to rest in the ocean. this is how it will go, each of us dying one at a time. the ocean will take us all.

Date: 60 days at sea

I can count the bones in my ribcage, maybe if I had paid more attention in music class I could play my own bones. The wet dreams have stopped, a small blessing. I can’t even imagine what the coroner would tell my family if they found my body covered in its own juices. Gods I miss juice, if we ever get found that is what I am going to ask for first. Apple juice, extra cold. Clouds are getting greener, some real wizard of oz shit to be honest. Writing is taking up too much of my energy, and I am not sure I can do it much anymore. Im glad at least that fish is still here with me, even though she looks like she could float away if someone blew too hard in her direction.

Date: 72 days at sea

More packages in the water today. We grabbed as many as we could. Most of what we uncovered we threw back, but some we kept. Major scores included a care package for an overseas soldier that included jerky and candy. There was also a blanket we kept and a couple books. One is called She’s Come Undone, and I started reading it today.

Date: 81 days at sea

The book was good, reminded me a lot of how I was with blake. She really hated herself so much, it was sad. The punishment for child molesters isn’t nearly enough, and if there was anything in my stomach, I am sure I would have gotten nauseas at the part where the man comes into her room while she was playing with her dolls. I don’t think my sister would have liked the book; I think it would have bothered her to be in the mind of someone who was in so much mental pain. My skin hurts from being burned and dry. If we get another package at sea day I am going to try and look for lotion.

Date: 87 days at sea

We have a few days of food left, Phil has gotten sick and can barely manage a sarcastic comment, he lays in his own feces since none of us have the energy to help him move or clean it. I don’t believe he will live much longer. No one can use their abilities anymore either, our strength is gone. Last night there was a green flash in the sky, it seemed like to light up the sea. Thunder followed, but there wasn’t a storm that I could see. There was a movie called Coco that came out a few years ago, and we look like the inhabitants of its “land of the dead”. This is all I have to write about now I guess. We are skinny, everything seems to be tinted green, and we are dying. Apparently, the color of death is green. I don’t mind green, but I wish it could have been purple. I like purple. There is no point in continuing this journal.

My eyes were closed as I replayed memories in my head that happened before I went on the cruise. I am currently on a fond recollection of my sister, painting her face like a monster and chasing me through the house. I figure if I am going to die, I should try to die with thoughts of loved ones in my head. Only eight of us remain, I am sure I will soon follow. We eat once every three days or so, doing our best to prolong the inevitable. The sky is a clear blue today, with thin light green clouds lazily drifting across. I open my eyes and gaze up at them, trying to find shapes in their languid forms. A bird flies overhead, interrupting my interpretation of a cloud which looks like a custard doughnut, and I scrunch my brow in irritation. Great, the bird distracted me, where did the damn donut cloud go? Wait a minute…a bird! I shot up into a sitting position, ignoring the sudden dizziness of the movement and frantically search the skies. Sure enough, there it was, with another bird flying after it; both beating their wings with gusto as they ride the currents. I raised myself on my elbows and half crawled, half slithered, to Darnell and Fish; both of whom were staring into space while wrapped up in each other’s limbs. I have not spoken in days and when I opened my mouth, I seemed to only be able to croak; it is a wonder that dust didn’t come flying out with the noise. At the sounds of my struggling their eyes drift towards me, landing on my face with a lazy interest. “Bird” I wheeze “BIRD”. Confusion flares in Darnell’s eyes and he raises himself onto an elbow, his gaze searching mine. WHOOSH-THUNK-SCRATCH We each turn to stare at the creature that had just landed on the top of one of our boat’s walls. “Bird” I say again, softer but with more conviction, the implications of the animal stringing tendrils of hope in my heart. We all stare at it while it stares back, as if daring us to challenge its presence. It looks like a seagull that was bred with bat. It has two eyes that are jet black, and a sort of hook at the tip of its wings with webbed feet that ended with long sharp claws. Whatever prey this bird ate was surely a sight to behold. The color of its feathers was quite striking, with whites mixed with teals, blacks and blues under its wings. Chris sits up and startles the bird, and it flies away in a huff. We watch it as it flies after its earlier companion. They fly towards the horizon, turning into little black specks in the sky. We all side eye one another, unsure if voicing our thoughts will jinx the situation. Jinx or not, the bird can only mean one thing; we are close to land.