Diana+B

=__Te____mpest__=

__**Chapter 1: Squall**__ Rain streams down from a dark and gloomy night sky, clouding the passenger windows. The aggressive shaking of the fragile plane causes my already tight seatbelt to dig deeper into my knotted stomach. White knuckles clench the coarse blue fabric of my seat. Irritating, blinking lights illuminate the gashed face of our pilot, while his panic-stricken partner whispers a desperate prayer. No war or navy training could have prepared me for the sudden impact of the icy ocean water shattering through the black cockpit window. All thoughts are drowned as water fills my ears and finds its way into the deepest corners of this deathbed. My restraint brakes loose of its binding, slashing across my skin. The florescent lifejacket hugging my chest struggles against the ocean depths to relieve my burning lungs with oxygen. However, as thoughts of life, love, and hate overtake my mind, I can’t help but welcome the reality that death can set free me of my sordid past.

A surreal radiance wraps my body in a warm blanket while I seemed to float along in a white void. An angelic voice brings the warm, soft sand along my wet back into awareness. My parched lips are watered by a string of saliva as my hideous moan sounds. Slowly, one salt-caked eye is opened to reveal a tan, dim figure, enclosed in light. In all honesty, death is a disappointment: an ache fills my entire body, my throat begs for water, and the body before me is, almost, frightening.

“There you are,” the angel- or is it a demon? – smiles; “you're all right.”

Warm water is poured over my face, surprising me so that I sit up, inviting a sharp pain through my neck. The realization dawns, almost sadly, that I am not dead; that the figure is no angel, but a beautifully dishevelled woman, shadowed by the scorching sun slowly setting low behind her. “How are you feeling?” a mature female voice speaks up from nearby.

“I-I-I-” my voice cracks, dry from the strong salt coating my dehydrated throat.

After much coughing, the two women give up on my answering and instead begin to assist me in examining for any serious injuries. Brushing them off, I notice that the beatific woman had wrapped a strip of bloody cloth around her tan, oval forehead, and she walks with a limp. The other, occasionally doubling over her petite brown body to catch her breath, keeps a fragile hand around her ribs. Vicious scrapes plaster her structured face and bloody knees thrust through tattered dress-pants. Only then do I notice my own cuts and bruises, cleaned by the natural ocean water. My now ragged tie is left knotted around a sore fist, vaguely reminding me of a startling coral reef. Trying to stand, an intolerable pain shoots through my back as I collapse back onto the soft welcoming sand, attracting the rushed attention of my unwanted companions. Exhausted from pain, I contemplate drifting back to sleep until the concerned looks of the female faces beat against my pride. Cautiously, like a small child, I take my chance at standing one more time. The surrounding view is despairing.

Murky, blue waves moisten the soft sand beneath my torn feet, gently intertwining a tangle of fresh, green seaweed along the tide line, with those already brown and crisp from the sun’s unforgiving glare. Beyond that, the water drops off to bask in a pink and purple evening being created by the golden sun. Turning, my tired eyes pierce blue daggers at my companions.

The frail one replies, “Dr. Kiran, glad to see you alive. Though, I would have preferred meeting under a different circumstance.” Ignoring her frail out struck hand, I gaze at the other woman.

“Cadence,” is the soft reply.

A slender smile creeps across my face, and the doctor scoffs at my obvious attraction to this slender creature.

“Tanner from Squad 2F-8,” I hear myself say before realizing that this is no longer the navy.

Taking a seat on the cotton-like sand, I twist the golden wedding band around my right-hand finger. The effects of the previous night haven’t functioned into my mind yet. I refuse to let them. Instead, I think about her. Not my now ex-wife, sitting in a stone walled building in the heights of New York City; but the lean, quiet angel, here, sitting only a pebble stone’s throw away from me. Her eyes hold something uncertain, something like fear. Whether that is fear caused by our unsure circumstance, or fear of me, I dare not ask. Frankly, I know my devilish eyes betrayed a bitter soul. A soul scarred from what I witnessed, the murders I guiltlessly commitment for my country.

“Who wouldn’t be afraid of a maniac?” I question myself. “Someone left insecure and broken. And all for what,” my mind scoffs, “a trophy and helpless marriage?”

“Are we the only ones,” the doctor asks no one in particular.

Cadence glances up from the miniature crab near her that had caught her attention. A whimpered //‘oh’// leaves her lips. Tears show in her innocent eyes, one escaping to leave a glistening trail down her dirty cheek. For a brief moment, sadness seizes my heart at the realization that mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters won’t be returned to their families. A tidal wave of anger forces that aside. I lost my family in a war that happened half way across the world from them.

Our attention is then drawn to an alarming rise of white birds from among a pocket of menacing, dense trees. The shocking squawking pierces through the tense atmosphere in such a way that the softer of the two women is forced to cover her ears. Only then do I notice the mess of fallen palm leaves and wisps of rusty tall grasses, strewn among each other to make a maze for the small critters to find their way to dinner. Soaring trees grow in patches, scrambled with stubby bushes and various dry grasses. They all make a path to an arrow-like rock, hardly visible through a troubled cloud lowering over the apparent island, along with the sun.

Tired eyes stare at me, my honorary badge, obviously waiting for instructions. Instructions that I wasn’t about to give out. With a tired sigh, I glumly rise and feel confused and annoyed eyes staring me down.

“Now, where do you suppose you’ll be going?” the doctor asks, cross.

Briefly facing her, I am shocked by the sudden anger showing on her face. This sparks my own quick temper, so I turn, offering no reply.

Soon after entering the gloomy foliage, light footsteps are heard behind me. The frail woman is soon in sight, taking a seat at the stump of a dry tree, leaving me to gather branches and feathered palm leaves. Timidly, Cadence assembles a crude structure in hopes of leaving us dry for that night. I take my opportunity to fix her rough structure as soon as she goes off with the doctor to look for fruits to eat. Despite a deep growling in the pit of my empty stomach, fatigue overtakes my body, as I sprawl myself on the dirt and leaves of this forest floor.

__**Chapter 2: Deluge**__ Wrath burns through my veins, poisoning my mind and taking over my body. The salvaged knife slashes at trees, while I stampede through the patches of forest, taking my anger out on this hell-hole. The pressure of the gun strapped to my thigh invigorates me, the feeling of power for once balancing my rage.

Soon, I find myself, panting and exhausted, at a rocky incline. This is the only place that offers a difference in landscape from the patches of trees dotting the island. A beach stretches around most of this, until it meets the rocks that account for the rest of the space. The rocks ascend high, and it is a tiring climb to my claimed spot: a flat cliff at the pinnacle surrounded by thin trees.

Here at the base, in plain view, 152 crude marks are visible. Still breathing hard, I add one more to the calendar, marking the fifth month of our abandonment on this island. All control that I had felt earlier vanishes with the appearance of this marking. My eyes bare down at the rock as I stand, willing it to crack under my fury. It doesn’t even flinch.

The knife is hot in my clammy hand as I lash out at the nearest tree; every stab filled with resentment at this world. I push away from the tree, only to turn back around to throw out my final misery, leaving the knife impaled in the soft bark.

I remember why I wanted to come to the rock in the first place, and walk over to the sliver of water running down a slight indent. Even after sucking the rock dry, I am not freed of my thirst. The lack of rain on the island is devastating, and our only source of water is running thinner every day. Even that was a miracle to find, and I thank the heavens that one other survivor had been found on our atoll to lead us to this source.

It was another female, Emily. The miracle, a 24 year old student, flying to Australia for her schooling as a surgical technician, stumbled onto the camp we had made the first night. How thankful I am that she did, because there would be no other way I would be able to survive life on this cursed piece of land with //the doctor.// Apparently Emily knows how to deal with arrogance, because, with her tips, Kiran is somewhat manageable.

The sun now shines high in the sky, so to cool myself I press my bare back against the shady patch of rock, making a note to thank Emily once again for another useful tip. Only then do I notice the tree that my knife hangs from so menacingly; standing so pale and poised, now scarred because of my anger. Still exhausted from my run across the island, I leave the weapon where it is and make myself comfortable on the dry soil. With the cool stone on my back, and my thirst slightly recovered, I allow my head to roll lazily to the side.

* * * “Is this seat taken?” the soft whisper sounds in my ear.

I am surprised that the most timid being on the island braved to join me on my claimed rock. Normally I would have sent any intruders away, but for her I pat the hard surface next to me as a welcome. The silence is nice now, as we both take in the view from our perch on the cliff.

“Beautiful view, isn’t it?” I break the silence.

Cadence sighs, “Absolutely gorgeous.”

“I reminds me of the sunsets back home. I’d always finish off my day like this.”

“I didn’t know New York had views like this,” she's surprised.

Laughing, I correct her, “No, not New York, but Yamba, Australia. That’s where I grew up. Sadly my accent is gone though.

Cadence chuckles.

“That’s where I was heading,” I confide in her silence, “back home. My apparent soul mate divorced me, got everything of importance; kids included. She says that I need to fix myself.” I scoff at the thought. “But how does someone fix something that they have no control over?”

“There must be some control in you,” her reply isn’t a desperate grasp full of pity, but a statement.

I turn to smile at the only person who has ever been so determined for me.

“Must be,” I say.

“I was supposed to be in Australian for the biggest modeling show of my life.”

“That must be quite the show.”

She mimics me, “Must be.”

With that we both fell into the beauty of the golden sun rays, as the clouds slowly turn pink, then grey. Our dreams and hopes for the future becoming harder to reach with the coming of night.

* * * //SNAP// I break through my memory and take the gun out of its holster. Something treads on the fallen leaves and I wonder if it could possibly be dinner for tonight. With only one bullet left, the shot has to count. Something dark, tan peeks through the low bushes to my right and I take fire with no hesitation.

An unidentifiable squeal reaches my ears, and I only piece things together when Cadence tumbles through the bush, clutching her right foot. Screams spew from her mouth while I stand frozen. Soon I hear the others running to us. Kiran is already yelling, and I can only thank the heavens that one other survivor had been found on our atoll.

Emily breaks through carrying the first aid kit we had found on shore. Behind her, Kiran appears, the mirror hanging off of her pants catching the glint of the sun, nearly blinding me. Few words are exchanged, but as Emily fetches hidden bowls made of woven palm leaves. To my surprise, they are filled with water. Adjustments are made, Candace’s agonizing screams quiet down, and the real doctor sets to work. Kiran is still yelling at me as Emily labours agilely with the tools from the first aid kit, cutting and poking, trying to get the bullet out of Cadence’s foot. Unlike this annoyance, the person who has the most right to hate me sits, unsurprisingly, silent, allowing only the occasional groan sound through grimaced lips.

“What do you think you were doing with the gun in the first place?” Kiran continues with her rampage. “Were you going to hunt down some imaginary boar, so that we can have a pretend meal? Because new flash, WE”VE EATEN ALL THE DAMN BOARS ON THIS ISLAND!”

None of us even take notice to Kiran as we’re already used to her fits. She is zoned out from our ears until I hear something that I will not allow slip by me.

“What did you say,” I ask curtly, coldly.

“I said,” states Kiran, “that you should go back to your high and mighty Squad 2F-6, or whatever, if you want to kill people.”

A new kind of anger causes me to stand and toss the petite body aside in one simple second. I advance, ready to tear this cold-hearted creature apart.

“Tanner,” I hear the unmistakable whisper, “Don’t.”

Now the seconds feel like agonizing minutes before I am able turn around. What I had tried so hard to erase from Cadence is visible in her green eyes. Fear. A fear so intense, that I can’t even allow myself to accept it is because of me. A fear so powerful, that I am forced to drop her gaze in shame, and hide myself among the dark of the trees.

__**Chapter 3: Furor**__ I stare at the white handkerchief as it falls from the hands of the innocent child. Hideous cries suffocate me, only growing with the child’s final collapse. The white cloth, his surrender, lies limply in the copper dust. Blood trickles from him, snaking its way along the ground to join that of the other lifeless bodies surrounding me. Deep tremors shake my body, while tears sting my face.

With a start, I awake to nearly collide foreheads with Kiran. The sting, I realize, has come from her raised hand.

“What’s wrong with you?” The cries continue, “You’re shaking the whole hut!”

My heart pounds; sweat beads my hairline. All the while, this enemy turns more and more like the child I had just murdered.

Careful not to lay a hand on this delusion, I manoeuvre my way out of our home and into the dark of night. Caliginosity becomes my friend; leading me forward, and leaving the continued howls behind me.

“Would you like a nightlight?” is the final sneer.

Then, the dark is an enemy. Stumbling over dead, innocent bodies, I can hear the snap of twigs as my victims families chase for revenge. I lurch forward over a drooping arm, ripping my knee open, yet feeling content to lay in the dry soil. Forcing myself to stand, legs that I cannot feel propel an aching body through bushes, and across cool sand; for I can feel the closeness of a punishment I would not be able to bear.

Finally, I find myself on the open rock. One by one, the stars blink off, as a soft, white light mixes with the pinks and creams of a rising sun. Panting, I find my way to the edge of the cliff, all the while watching the sun slowly pull itself over the ocean’s edge. As I sit, the sun sends its soft yellow beams to crack through the pink clouds. A path shines on the water, illuminating the rising, and falling of white-crested waves.

Cautiously peering over the edge, a family of rocks below seems to taunt me, for the protruding peaks point at me. While peaceful waves lapped against the cliff’s base, I try to remember how I found myself with theses bitter-sweet effects: the rising sun, a pounding heart, a calm ocean, and rude rocks. A tickling in my knee does, however, remind me to tear a ribbon off of my shirt in order to bandage an open wound. Dabbing at the blood, my rag soon becomes drenched in red, so, in annoyance, I simply take off my whole shirt and wrap it around the entire knee. The scent become sickening after staring too long at the excess blood that drips off of the cliff; splattering on the rocks below, they are washed away with every coming wave.

From my peripheral vision, a slight movement causes me to avert my gaze. An unknown insect, the size of my pinkie-nail, makes its way through cracks and debris towards the sweet aroma. Once on the edge of the pool, an antenna plays with the blood until the bug confirms that this is not food.

“Probably going back to its family,” I tell myself.

“That’s because it has a family,” something retorts, “one that loves him, and remembers him. That’s because he protects them.”

I moan, “That’s what I was trying to do!”

The voice sneers, “Hah! Stop kidding yourself; you just wanted fame and honour. That’s why you don’t have a wife anymore, and why you can never call yourself someone’s father. Nobody likes someone who’s selfish. And you were very selfish.” Tears streamed down my cheeks, but the voice continues. “You were very selfish, yes you were; you didn’t even care about the hurt you caused your family by joining the army. But that’s okay, now you're here and she can be left alone, while you're sons have a //real// daddy.”

“That’s not true,” I yell. “Just be quiet because that’s not true! She just loved him more. And she’ll remind the boys about me; they’ll remember me. I was just gone too long, they couldn’t –-“

Commotion from the beach causes me to snap back into reality. From my perch, two women are visible feverishly setting ablaze a tipi-like structure of palm trees. A glint from the mirror allows fire to find its way up the palm leaves. Flames eagerly consume the structure, but a heavy, black smoke is left billowing from the top. A tenuous girl appears from beneath a palm tree, to wobble over to the apparent celebration.

Only then do I bother to look into their horizon. Just past the beach, the ocean’s energy is interrupted by a dot; the blotch slowly growing into a ship as it inches its way towards our island. The visible green stripes remind me of the destructive boat that had been my home while in the U.S. Navy.

“The stupid girls,” I fear. “Do they not see the boat? It’s going to see the smoke!”

Instinct takes over my mind, trying to think of the best place to hide .The cackle of the fire can be heard, as I begin to panic. The girls can be taken, but I will not allow the same fate for me. So much wrong has been done by my hands—by hands that hadn’t understood the consequence—that the punishment will be nothing but unbearable.

The malicious smoke continues to trail towards the boat, almost as if to laugh at me. Terror battles for my breath, while loss of blood distorts my vision. Trying to regain control of my body, I double over to catch my breath. The redness of my make-shift bandage turn into spots in my eyes, providing my vision a break from the horrifying scene on the beach.

“We’re going home,” the sudden voice surprises me.

I stand, too quickly, to face my opponent. The excitement in Emily’s eyes makes her unrecognizable. Taking a step back I wonder if her new found glow is because she was crazy. As my second foot lifts to move, I realized that the only place left to go is past the edge of the cliff. Emily’s excitement twists into horror, and a shriek like that of a hawk sounds when I realize that I hadn’t told Emily to hide. With a sickening //snap//, my head is in contact with rock. The final disgust that I will not be missed in this world is pushed away with the blackness of death.