uh idk yet but i will change it

Crash-Landed

My eyes shot open instantly as waves of pain flooded through my body. Breathing heavily, I laid there for a moment, aching, thoughts rushing into my mind. 

Why wasn't I dead? Why did everything hurt so badly? What happened?

I tried to sit up, but was restrained by something. A large piece of charred and jagged metal held me captive like a rabbit in a snare, my leg caught and pinned under it. With one aching arm, I propped my body up ever so slightly, reaching forward with the other to attempt to remove said foe. 

Trying to lift and push wasn't working, especially with only one arm. Flopping back down into the hot sand, I thought to myself. If I wasn't dead already, I wasn't going to die here like this. Glancing to the side of me, I noticed a splintered branch that had washed ashore. I reached out to grab it, but quickly took my hand away as pain shot through my body again, like the aftershock of an earthquake. If only I could stretch a little more, and grab it, I might be able to use it to free myself somehow. But for now, I had to sit and rest again, waiting for the pain to dull ever so slightly.

What seemed like hours passed before I moved again, noticing that things didn't hurt quite as bad. I had also noticed that there were voices coming from somewhere. My eyes widened and one thought popped into my mind: Survivors. There were others here, who were still alive, like me. And I had to get to them, quickly. 

With all of the strength I could muster, I reached out again and grabbed the branch, gripping it tightly. I pulled it closer to me, setting it back down on the sand. Stinging sweat dripped into my eyes as I worked. Glancing around again, I noticed a good-sized rock, about as big as a tin lunchbox. I used my other hand to roll it over to me, positioning it ever just so and laying the stick over it. Now for the hard part. I wedged the wood underneath the metal rubbish, careful not to poke my leg more than it already had been. The only thing left to do was put enough weight on the branch, and roll out as it lifted the debris. Counting down from three, I flopped down onto the stick. With a creak, the metal lifted just slightly enough for me to free my leg and roll out from under it. 

Breathing heavily again, now on my stomach and free, I took in a mouthful of sand by accident, spitting it out below me. I struggled to pull myself up, crawling slowly towards the voices on my hands and knees like an infant. I eventually peeled myself up from the ground, stumbling and wobbling as I held onto another piece of the plane for balance. My legs, not only aching and stinging, felt like Jello and bent and shook like a character you'd see in a 1930's rubber hose cartoon. Somehow, I managed to regain my balance, though slightly dizzy from the crash and the blistering heat of the sun. My vision blurred and faded in and out, before I could finally see where the voices were coming from. A group of boys about my age and a group of primary school boys were gathered together, their voices all ringing out like a choir. One particular voice drowned out the others, as the group got a bit quieter. I slowly and precariously dragged myself over to the group, but it seemed as though no one had taken much notice of me yet. 

Now standing in the very back, I craned my neck and head up over shoulders and other heads, trying to listen and see what was happening. A blonde boy around my age was speaking calmly but firmly, holding a beautiful conch shell in his grasp. The magnificent shell was dusted a gentle blush-pink, with white bits and peachy stripes here and there. If it weren't in his hands and the lot of us weren't dead or only half, I would have taken the conch for my own. Of course, mother wouldn't have liked that, and she would have me gotten rid of the thing, calling it 'dirty' and 'improper'. Mother never did really understand the importance of a shiny penny on the ground, or a rusty nail. Or a rock shaped like a galosh, nor a dandy-lion. All she knew was the importance of cooking healthy meals, cleaning the house, pursuing a career as a seamstress or not at all, and being a good wife. I then wondered if Mother would know that we crashed, beginning to feel 'concerned' as she would always say whenever she didn't like something I did. I didn't crash the bloody plane, so I swore that if I returned home and got a rather unpleasant thrashing for some foolish reason, that I would run away and never come back. 

I snapped back to the present when there was a sudden shout in my direction. 

"Oi! What're you doin' here?? I don't remember seeing you among the rubble! Where'd you come from, girl?" A taller boy with dark red hair and freckles pointed at me with an accusing finger, scowling. "There aren't any girls in my choir!" 

Embarrassment joined the vermillion shades of sunburn on my face as the majority of the boys all turned and stared at me. My now ruined jumper billowed slightly in the salty breeze as I looked back in silence, unaware of what to say. Things were silent until small murmurs rose from the crowd. 

"Who is she?"

"Where did she come from?"

"A girl?"

"Who had a girl on the plane?"

Just then, a boy I finally recognized took the shell from the boy who originally had it. 

"Settle down! She was on the plane with us. You just missed her because you were all too busy chattering." 

I had sat next to the plump boy on the aeroplane. He was quite talkative, but very smart and interesting. Piggy, was what he had told me to call him. A rather ugly and brutal name to be given, but he seemed to trust me with addressing him as so. I finally felt words begin to drip out of my mouth slowly, as my eyes moved back and forth between the boys. 

"I was evacuated, just like you lot. They didn't have enough room for me on the girls' plane, so they put me on that one." I gestured back to the flaming wreckage with a sore arm, as it began to drift out to sea. 

"I have no malicious intent, really. I was just a bit excited-- and, well, surprised-- to see that there were still some of us left..." I trailed off, looking down at the blinding white sand.

"Ralph, let me handle this." Piggy put a hand on Ralph's shoulder before slowly waddling over to me. "She's hurt a bit, there's a lot of cuts and bruises and things." His eyes widened in surprise and his face reddened slightly in embarrassment. 

"I sincerely apologize, I've forgotten your name already..." He whispered to me, pushing his spectacles farther up onto his nose. "Here, take the conch. Whoever has the conch gets to speak. I've spoken for a bit, so now you may." Piggy's round fingers loosened around the shell and he dropped it into my hands. It was heavier than it looked. 

"Ha, look at her! Can't even hold a conch! She's terribly weak!" The red-haired boy was elbowed hard by the blonde one. 

"Oh, shut up, Jack! She's hurt!" 

Jack snickered to himself and his choir, making jokes and poking fun. I glared slightly, before speaking loud and clearly, holding the shell proudly.

"My name is Mary Jane Amélie Fernsby, and I'm stuck here just like you! So you-- you better--" My confidence began to sink again as I trailed off. 

"Don't be beastly to me!" I squeezed my eyes shut angrily and huffed, pushing the conch back into Piggy's hands.

There were more murmurs from the boys. It was as if they'd never even seen a girl. Piggy passed the conch over to Ralph, who tucked it under his arm like a football. 

"Listen up you lot! Since we need shelters, we'll build them first. That's most important. So the bigguns like us will mostly be building, but the littluns need to be watched as well, since they can't help build." 

I untied the tie from my school uniform, wrapping it around my injured leg. I tried to smooth out my slightly tattered and dirty uniform, before glancing up at the wooded area looming over me. There was no telling what would happen to us.