Jordyn
All the little tree bones I gathered the night before are burnt up. Nothing remains but a pile of gray ash and the rock I used to start the ember. The wood is moist again from thawing out.
I clear the woodpile and shuffle the sand up to clear the damp layer. To my surprise, the white grains underneath it are dry. I dig a new fire pit and then push up off the ground to go find more driftwood.
When I come out into the sunlight, I realize just how drastic the temperature change is. The copper sun bears down on my pale skin and sears me to the bone. I shield my eyes and squint.
Sam stands out in knee high water. His pants have been rolled up unevenly so that one of them shows his knee and the other dips in the water. He holds the spear above his head and glares at the water below him with a scowl on his face that defines the saying 'if looks could kill'.
"Sam!" I yell, cupping my hands around my mouth. He jumps at the sound of my voice, but after realizing who I am, his shoulders relax. "Do you realize you can't kill them just by looking at them?"
"Ha ha," he says, slapping his knee with a free hand. He snarls his lip up at me, and I smirk. "Go on and get that firewood, Red."
"We made a deal, Samson," I growl, digging the knife out of my pocket and brandishing it at him.
"Stop makin' fun of me, and I won't call you names."
I shake my head but turn towards the jungle.
As I approach the nest of trees, my heart sinks. The sunlight avoids even the trunks, and the entire jungle exists in shadows. A hole stands in the center where I assume the lion came through the night before. A bunch of huge, bright red birds sit on the edge on a branch and hustle together until they look like a continuous string of red balloons. I wonder if I stabbed one of them, would they all explode?
My stomach turns at the idea of going back into the woods. The trees aim to kill me, just like everything else. Those red birds might spit fire or be carnivores. The lion might have cubs the size of miniature ponies and be out for revenge.
No, I can't go in there.
So, I kneel down in front of the woods and gather all the twigs within arms reach. When my arms get full, I return to the alcove, dump the branches, and trudge back to get more. I want to be able to keep the fire going tonight, and so, I gather more than necessary.
By the third trip, sweat covers my back and glues my hair to my face. My skin hurts, and I wince if a branch grazes against it. My forearms shine bright pink, and more than once, I stop to pull a urchin out of my foot. I pull my braids back and tie them together at the base of my neck but loose strands fall down across my face.
I reach up for a branch that I can use to start the fire when a squeal cuts through the silence. Spinning on my heel towards the sound, I squint through the bright sunlight.
Knee deep in water, Sam squeals again, and I freeze.
He waves his arms at me in panic and resorts to calling my name.
"Jordy! I need your help!"
My legs turn to concrete, and the voices nestle deep into my ears.
Let him die. He's going to kill you anyway.
No, he isn't. This isn't right. I have to help him. I owe him.
You owe him nothing. Do you think he would save you if the tables were turned?
YOU ARE READING
The Island
Science Fiction"This is The Island, a prison designed for minors like me- too young to be executed, too old to be reformed, and too much of a stain on humanity to let exist. It was 'the answer' to the growing crime rate resulting from a world that was falling apar...
