Friday, 28 December 2012

Fool's Paradise: Chapter1

I have a bunch of chapters already written for this story so let me know what you think. This is my take on the "stranded on an island" theme. It has a slight sci-fi feel (which will be more in depth in the second story, which really depends on this story...), but I'm focusing on human psychology and primal tendencies on a universe where survival tactics is not normally introduced. 

So this is really just a story set in the future where being stranded is never thought to happen (not like it should be, but I'm paranoid and this is outside of the box for me.).

So enjoy and let me know what you think because without your opinion, I'm writing in the dark (with my laptop screen set on very dim...).

Be good,


It's so cold, but my hands reach out to something that slips through my fingers. 'Where's my blanket?' flits through my head and I wrap my arms around myself to fight off a shiver. Something sticks to my face when I turn over onto my side from my stomach and sand falls away when my hand brushes my cheek. 

Groaning, I force myself to sit up, confused as to why my room would be this cold. It's freezing and my whole body throbs in a dull pounding. It's a struggle to open my eyes because there's so much grit to rub off. But when my vision clears, everything comes back to me.

I'm not in my room in the dorms. The tide drawing closer to my feet is testament to that. The hull of the hover-jet I had boarded a couple hours ago is half submerged in the rising tide. The metal is split in half and I can see my seat, meters away from the shiny edges. It's too dark to see anything else except shadows. Torn seats and luggages lay sprawled, as if spewed from the belly of the jet, some succumbing to the waves. 

A shiver ripples through my body and down my legs. My school uniform provides little warmth against this cold and I can see the goosebumps on my legs from the tattered hem of my plaid skirt. My shoes are still on my feet and I feel a little sense of self in seeing the wretched shoes on my person. Urgently, my hand jabs into the pockets of my vest, and pull out my comcast, flipping open the screen with a flick of my thumb. 

The screen is blank so I have to wait for it to wake up, but my hopes die when a clear message pops up: 'No Service Connection'. I don't think I've ever seen this message come up before, so in my disbelief, I press the buttons on the little console, hoping to bypass the message and find my phone book. Nothing works so I flip shut the lid, turning off the device.

Looking around, I don't see any movement besides the tide, and a fear runs up my spine. I call out for help, surprised by the shakiness in my voice. For a moment, I wait, ears straining for the sound of someone calling back and eyes desperate for another survivor. 

I see nothing.  I hear nothing. 

The tide laps at the beach and I fight with the sand to stand up. I waver slightly, wrapping my arms around myself, and the shadows start to creep closer to me as the sun starts to droop lower. The cold wind rips through my blouse and I can't help the cold lump forming in my throat. 

I hiccup just when a hand clamps onto my shoulder. A scream strangles itself when it tries to escape past the lump, only allowing a soft shriek to shake the air. I jump out of the person's reach, swiveling around to face whoever it is. The sun's last rays reveal blonde hair and blue eyes set in a darkened glare. 

His demeanor screams frightening and I clear my throat, intending to scream again because he looks like the kind of person who would kill in cold blood. My mouth opens, but before any  sort of sound can form, a shiver wracks through my body again. I'm startled by my body's interruption and don't notice, right away, that something settles around my shoulders.

Confused, I bring up a hand to finger the blanket, surprised by the protection and warmth it holds. I lift my head up to the perpetrator and watch the retreating back of a tall boy as he treks up the beach. 

"Wait!" I call out, clutching the blanket around me as I will my legs to run. I only manage a jog as I kick up sand behind me, trying to catch up to the man who readily gave up his blanket for me. 

Up the beach and on the other side of the collapsed shell of the jet, a group is huddled in the sand. The boy walks to them and my legs muster enough strength to run the few meters to the group. 

My knees fall into the sand as soon as I make it to the group and someone pats my shoulder as I cry. A relief sets into my chest in knowing that others are alive and that's enough to encourage sobs. I'm not alone.

I huddle close to the others, glad for the body heat. Through my blurred vision I recognize the boy who lead me here and gave me his blanket. He wraps his arm around my shoulders and buries me into his chest, wrapping a blanket he had somehow procured around the both of us. 

I'm never this prone to touching, or keen to embracing, but now seems like an appropriate time to let it by. Bringing my blanket to my face, I attempt to choke out the sobs and wipe my face dry, because I'm fairly sure I'm a mucus mess. My efforts prove to no avail and, with his hand rubbing, comfortingly, circles into my back, I drift off into an exhaustive sleep.


Something nudges me in the back and I groan when I feel a muscle protest at the abuse. The nudge repeats its assault and I turn away from the pain maker, blinking my eyes of the crust that had formed when I sobbed myself to sleep. 

I'm facing away from the group, on the edge of the huddle and I can see the sea. The sun is up and the rays bounce off the waves, sparkling as seagulls dive and flutter over the irregular surface.

I push myself up and survey the bodies behind me, recognizing the uniforms of my school on all of them, but realizing that there are only thirty-seven of us here out of the seventy that boarded. My heart lurches at the numbers, hoping that they made the same mistake as I did and crawled out on the other side of the beach. Untangling my legs from the confines of someone else's, I wrap the blankets around myself and stand up.

Looking down at the mess of sleeping teens, I try to find the blonde haired boy midst the group. He isn't any one of these blondes although I can't be sure because I only saw his hair and eyes. His eyes, though, were frightful, almost malicious and cold.

Sitting back down in the sand, but away from the tangle, I wait for them to wake up. I don't want to experience that fear and loneliness again, especially not now. I almost laugh at myself and the irony. For someone who shied away from the other students and holed themselves in the nurse's office to read medical textbooks alone, it sure is ironic how needy I am for the company now. 

I pull my knees to my chest and rest my chin on them, watching for tell-tale signs of awakening from my fellow students, all of whom I can't name.



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