William+B

William B

__**Just a Terrible Crisis**__ //Dedicated to my friends, the master "fish" (you know who you are, yet I apologize for calling you as that) and his wife, and the mutant J-ello!//



__Trees to Cliffs__ Where am I? What happened? Have I found peace? I listen to an eerie pause while the waves crash by the shore and me. The breeze whooshes and flies overhead. A warm atmosphere tends to my pain and relieves me from the chill. It's somber. I must follow the illuminating moonlight to reach paradise, but paradise must wait, for I awaken on the drenched sand. I am soaked and aching from whatever smashed my consciousness and delivered me to this silent beach. Because of the tremendous protests in my head distracting my attempts to recall, I do not remember everything. Wet sand, my hands gracefully grasp; my eyes only observe the blurry towers everywhere. Seems like a magnificent sight to me. Exploring unfamiliar settings is what I adore, but sitting here won;t give me any progress. Just whispering winds are what I hear. I fear that I may be alone. Trees, trees, rock, trees, and then a cliff halt my path. A tiny pebble accidentally falls off. First ledge, it bounces; second ledge, it ricochets; third ledge; it bounces again; fourth... it hits the ground. I laugh. I discouragingly turn my back to the cliff hoping I won't return. A great wall of trees surrounds the chimney beyond it. As I hike, nature grabs my own clothing tearing scars to my skin. The pain angers me. Concluding that this place is just a lonesome island, I sit down on the soggy, rotten log to rest. Each deep breath restores my will. In between, a sigh of discomfort break it. My exhausted body lies down by the log; my eyes close to snooze as the night light disappears. Rustling, murmuring, and squealing alarm me. Disappointingly, it was not a rooster or a bell. I immediately straighten up. Paranoia fills my stomach as my heart jumps to crush it. My legs stiffen and my arms prepare; my eyes shake at every alert response. Automatically, I grasp a solid, leather stick on my belt and find silver on the other end of the wooden handle. My grip on the blade tightens as the tense nervousness hinders my control. "Oinkers! Please die for my stomach!" a distant voice tediously yells.

A brown hairy beast springs out of the bushes. Little leaves chaotically scatter like a pea green snow in autumn. A tiny branch flings itself to my forehead followed by a long javelin, which disarms me.

I dodge out the way of the swine while simultaneously attempting to grab the knife back; a boot steps on the delicate steel. A hand reaches to aid me.

"Pigs squeal and surprise," the ecstatic person laughs. "I'm amazed to meet a comrade in this island."

Speechless, I ignore the dirty, blond guy and struggle to shove the boot away. The boot comprehends. Once I spot a glimpse of the handle, I snatch the knife back to its frigid master and return it to its sheath.

"Sorry about that," he apologizes while I set myself back to my feet.

"Your foot of that stuck you threw?" I blurt.

<span style="font-family: Verdana,Geneva,sans-serif;">"Okay, I apologize for both incidents. Derek happens to be my name. What's yours?"

<span style="font-family: Verdana,Geneva,sans-serif;">I hesitate. My amnesiac memory can only recall up to my nap at the beach. Why don't I remember, especially my most basic identity?

<span style="font-family: Verdana,Geneva,sans-serif;">"My name is," I pause. "I... don't remember."

<span style="font-family: Verdana,Geneva,sans-serif;">"Seriously?"

<span style="font-family: Verdana,Geneva,sans-serif;">"No, my name is Will," I jokingly lie.

<span style="font-family: Verdana,Geneva,sans-serif;">"Alright! Follow me!"

<span style="font-family: Verdana,Geneva,sans-serif;">Derek rushes to retrieve his sharpened stick before quickly darting off into the wild. His eyes shine of hope. I, then, follow his motivating sprint to track the meat.

<span style="font-family: Verdana,Geneva,sans-serif;">Eventually, I notice a glistening shine, which is away from the stomped plants. I decide to figure out what that shining objects is; as I approach it, a face appears. Dark hair, emotionless eyes, and a straight visage reflect. I pick it up, but its glassy texture slips. Amazingly, it did not shatter and I pick it up again to store the item in my pocket.

<span style="font-family: Verdana,Geneva,sans-serif;">"Found you, Oinkers!" a battle-hungry fool exclaims through the wooden towers.

<span style="font-family: Verdana,Geneva,sans-serif;">I hurriedly dash to the source of the noise through the tramped plants. Once I arrived by Derek's side, his hand is dreadfully dyed with crimson. The similar red stains are also plastered on his pear and clothes. The waterfall roars. The air reeks of terrible scents combined with the damp mist. I examine the ground and find a horrid scene of flesh and blood.

<span style="font-family: Verdana,Geneva,sans-serif;">"Finally," he sighs, "rest in peace, silly pig."

<span style="font-family: Verdana,Geneva,sans-serif;">"Meat."

<span style="font-family: Verdana,Geneva,sans-serif;">"Delicious!"

<span style="font-family: Verdana,Geneva,sans-serif;">I freeze. Flashes of comfortable seats organized like a marching band appear. The camera slowly moves. Walking on the red carpet, blazing puffs of amber and ruby scorches the blank walls. A menacing face of the exact dark hair and hateful eyes surprises me. The silhouette struts from the orange cloud and across the crimson carpet. Closer to the camera the clown struts. Closer to my blade the clown struts. Closer the disgusting visage becomes clear. The maniacal clown hysterically laughs. With each exhale of "Ha", a corpse, beyond repair, appear each time.

<span style="font-family: Verdana,Geneva,sans-serif;">"Are you alright?" he echoed menacingly.

<span style="font-family: Verdana,Geneva,sans-serif;">Panicked, I clumsily swing my knife to shove the terror away.

<span style="font-family: Verdana,Geneva,sans-serif;">"Get away!"

<span style="font-family: Verdana,Geneva,sans-serif;">Thud! The man collapsed. <span style="display: block; font-family: Verdana,Geneva,sans-serif; text-align: center;">__Dandelions__

Banshees of the sky shriek with blinding bolts striking the muddy earth. Solemnly, tears continue to drench the world around me. With the silver blade, which is sparkling clean except for bloody stains of the past, I carve on the mossy boulder beside the fallen: Derek Died: An unfortunate date A short-lived friend Rest in peace Floating on the pitter-pattering breeze, a fluffy dandelion seed nonchalantly lands on the ghostly grave. As it stands on its tip and topples down on the mushy mud, I turn around as I inaudibly mouth words of apologies away from the boulder. Masking my sorrowful face, the rain refuses to finish mourning. Over the tower of trees, smoke rise to add more grey for my stained digits. Clown hands torment; my hands tremor. While I return the knife to its sheath, I tightly grasp on the sharpened stick, which impales the pig carcass. I sprint away. I hesitantly stop at another cliff, but shorter than the previous cliff I visited. Oddly, I tear the rancid meat off of the spear. I pose to throw it down because I woefully wish to forget it all. Never! I am fatigued because of this neurotic paranoia and that unbelievable murder. That maniac is to blame; although, after the clown’s appearance, he has opened a significant set of puzzle pieces. Sigh! “Hey! You shouldn’t be standing out in the rain!” a stern yell advises. Amazing! Who would be stern enough to order an independent man? Droll! Is my handicap hindering my self-proclaimed title of being self-dependent? Staring at the tall man a few paces away from me, I doubtfully question him. “Where do you recommend I must stay?” I merrily reply to the gloomy-looking person whose clothes are both shredded and soaked. He appears as if he saw me properly putting the deceased six feet under and prepared for the formal funeral of the ill-fated fallen. “Follow me! And bring that pork with you. I can’t find our hunter anywhere,” he requests before departing into the dense vegetation. I assume the “hunter” he mentioned is the buried victim. Through the bothersome branches, which are annoying obstacles of the forest, I mimic my guide as he hurriedly leads me to a place he confidentially informs to be a safe area from any dangers in the isolated island. “A meeting without introduction, how polite of you.” Is it necessary? I assume the bonding will only carry on at a similar time spent with that tragic hunter. “Sorry,” the dim individual amusingly apologizes, “my name is Joshua. Nice meeting another survivor from the plane crash.” “Plane crash? Is that how we ended up in this dull island?” I daringly demanded to determine any recollection of my past and the reason why it is critical for me to survive. “I’ll explain later. Now, what’s your name?” “Oh, I am Will.” The lie must continue. The red nose elongates. Pause. “Boom!” I surprisingly jump. “Explosion?” A surge of paralytic needles pricks every part of my body. As my vision unexpectedly fade, I collapse. My conscience arrives again at the maniac’s realm. When the darkness metamorphoses into its proper colours, the clown is out of sight. Examining the scene, it appears with its comfortable seats and blood-red carpet, but it lacks the gothic, gory details. To my left, a tight window rests and displays a genuine painting of a view of the aquamarine sky over the clouds; an exact duplicate of the window is situated across to my right through the row of plushy, ashen seats, where they accommodate active… live… people? “Wake up!” a shocking command, which forces my consciousness to return to its weird vessel, orders. “Geez! You made my body ache and my ears deaf from that tantrum you displayed,” Josh complains as he occupies himself with a charcoal meat on his hand. Without warning, Josh aimlessly throws a chunk of meat he took from the flaming BBQ spit. “Tell me! How did we end up in this place?” I immediately ask without taking a single bite off the greasy meat despite the aching protests of my stomach. Before Josh could answer, another individual springs from the bright entrance of the stone cave. Feeling the stabbing knives of fear, I meet his sharp eyes. Frighteningly, the lighter, shaggy haired one points the stone-tip spear directly in front of my eyeball. My pupil fiercely shakes from the utter panic as Josh attempts to calm the situation down. “GET OUT!” Two words I heard before… …more blood spills.

__Pyrite__

Sitting on the stone corridor, my terrible fate continues to weaken me. As thick, jet-black tears from my closed eye flow, blurry silhouettes slog in front of me. Enviously, they greedily consume the charcoal pork while I ponder whether each inhale would be my last. Weakness envelops my consciousness. Isn’t it amazing how complex the human mind is? Several thoughts would create painful surges of activities constantly ravaging every movement the body performs; however, the duty of the colourful eyes, exposed ears, elongated nose, slimy tongue and sensitive epidermis record every possible, minute detail, which one perceives every second. Unknowingly, those details are stored inside a hidden compartment of the grey blob. In due time, the file is plucked out of that cabinet, processed, recalled, and disastrously explained to fulfill and understand the present or future situation using past information. After all, the truth is painful. If only I can rewind time, I’d be able to remember the tragic events. . . . Cotton fog blinds the glass on my left. Unfamiliar strangers are hypnotized by the flashy, animated images appearing on a narrow screen, which is attached by the rear of another seat. Further to my right hand, a recognizable red rug offers the path for a delicate cart of rations pushed by a regular, responsive babe.

Noticing that the woman has arrived by our row, she queries, “Would you like some snacks and beverages?”

Somehow, my body automatically refuses her offer, but the neighbouring passengers demand her hospitable offer. While the smiling lady prepares their order, I confront the scenery beyond the window like I am idolizing a painting in the Louvre. Regrettably, I look back at the people beside me as they receive their delicious snack and a plastic cup containing a fizzling, orange beverage. As my curious eyes continue to watch, my stomach groans. “Delicious!” the hungry man exclaims. “Boom!” the other man beside the aisle chuckles. . . . “Do you think it’s him? The terrible one?” As the curious characters examine me, I continue to slumber by the bumpy cave wall. What they do not acknowledge is that my inanimate ear will be listening to their dialogue. “I don’t know. From what I saw at that time, he certainly fits the description.” “Argh! I could have been in Mexico by now enjoying paradise!” “We’re in the same boat here. Let’s just hope that someone will detect the signal.” Silence engulfs the two familiar, yet irritated, voices “How many days has it been? Twenty? Forty?” “I’ve lost count.” “Bah! Just as long as we are in this cave, everything will go smoothly.” “Hopefully. All these events,” the muffled voice sighs, “are too much for me to handle.” “I only want to go home!” the rapturous one whines. Fascinatingly, an additional pause interrupts the conversation. “Have you seen Derek, yet?” “No, I haven’t.” “Ha! He’s probably dead by the malevolent hands of this terror.” After another time frame of nonentity elapses, the silhouettes disappear from my hazy vision. I primarily confirm whether those irritated survivors do not return. Eventually, I begin to achingly shift to the dark charcoal pit to search for any remains. There is nothing except ashes. Lying by the wall to rest to satisfy my lacklustre body, I touch the dried crimson crystal trail on my chin, my cheek, and my closed eye. From my torn pocket, a mirror exhibits itself; hinting that I must use it, I flimsily look through the invisible barrier without moving the slightly shattered glass only to stare at the figure behind it. I see a mess. Chaotically, my righteous mind distorts, but it does not transport me to the unreal realm. Without a sharp, silly, serious smile on my face, my insane guffaw could not have echoed throughout the yawning cavern. My pitiful eye seems like a dark crystal eye patch covers it. Inside the faint cavern, disorganized items lay motionless throughout the dirt and ashes: a tough tarp, a snow-white knife, a tangled rope, and a pallid box with a vivid scarlet cross. Hilarious! A pallid, tin box with a vivid scarlet cross (the symbol is analogous to the Swiss flag but it possesses the reciprocal colours of the flag) is lying on the dreary dust; nevertheless, I refuse to exploit its potential benevolence waiting to be exposed by the hands of desperate victims. <span style="display: block; font-family: Verdana,Geneva,sans-serif; text-align: left;"> While I wait for the two survivors, my thoughts internally shred everything I struggle to restore back with my breath: my solitary sanity, withering will, and fading fervour. I curse the clown. Lingering questions worsen the struggle for survival. I curse the crystal. Inert motions hinder the struggle for survival. I ultimately curse myself. “We struggle for survival yet not a single sign of Derek?” the naive voice raises. Possibly, the carvings disappeared because of my crude penmanship when I used a rock and a blade. “I searched all the way to the cliffs and followed the stream to a waterfall, yet,” the gloomy voice pauses, “it was all for naught.” Pretending to sleep and deceive the unsuspecting fellows, the flies swarm the rank, rotting, rancid part of my face. Booming footsteps enter the dimly sunlit cave and ignorantly continue their conversation. Calmly, a wave of air wafts across my face, which eradicates the pestering insects. “Dumb flies! Do you think he’s dead? You think you overdid the deed?” “Nah! I did it to protect us, avenge the fallen, and prevent further damage. I did what I think is right.” “I guess. I believe he won’t do any more after…” Before the dismal tone could finish his supposed detailed sentence, a thunderous quake shakes the earth, gives some physical motion to the immovable objects, and reveals my deception to the two survivors. As the tremors halt, four wide eyes shockingly stare at my ashen façade. “That answered your question, Josh,” the juvenile guy asserts after standing up and darting off to the cave entrance. “Tragically, we have to get out of here since that volcano will erupt anytime soon.” “We can’t leave Will here,” insists Josh. “Too bad! He deserves to die!” the enraged guy insults before scurrying off to theoretical safety. “Hey! Can you at least talk?” Josh scoffs. “ Who cares? We need to get out! NOW!” I merely nod to him. Struggling to get up after several hours of eavesdropping and idleness, Josh lends his shoulder to support my sore joints. I thought of urging Josh to bring the useful supplies stored in the cave, but I decide to ignore it. “I’m… sorry,” I apologetically mutter, “For everything I…” “It doesn’t matter what Jacob thinks or what happened in the past. I… no, we have to survive from this isolation,” Josh interjects. Other than my chary, creepy cachinnation, a smile streaks across from my cheeks like the slit-mouth murderer in Japan. A ghostly smile, which seems inane to me, implants itself into the deepest areas of the grey blob inside my head. We manage to regroup with Jacob, but a great shadow blocks the sunlight, which cloaks the golden scene and shades the sand to generate the impression of pyrite. Leaving me helpless, Josh rushes to Jacob’s position as he squeals frantic protests against Jacob’s next action. Dandelions flutter as it creates an imaginary barrier between Josh and I. Beside the dinghy, the group of uniform men decides to assist me, but the explosions from different locations prevent the time frame from resuming; the final scene remains still. A cerise palm shades itself to a cerulean hue; wordlessly, a cerulean palm shades itself to an ivory tint. Paradise is my next destination.