The Winds of Fate ｡ Lost

1 - THE MYSTERIOUS ISLAND

　
The Island
Day 1
　

The world around him was a complete blur. He couldn't make out a single thing around him; only a palette of colours that of blue, green and brown. But after a while, his vision came into focus, and Tristan Hopewell realized that he was staring up at a blue sky filled with billowing smoke.

His brows furrowed in confusion as he stared up at the seemingly endless stream of smoke, wondering what had happened and where he was. The last thing he can remember was being on an airplane bound for Los Angeles. He had handed a woman his ticket, boarded the plane, took his seat, and started reading the book he packed with him. After a while, he asked the stewardess for some water, and then there was some turbulence. Then—OH, MY GOD!

Tristan's eyes widened tremendously as the realization of what happened hit him like a tidal wave. It felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him, his lungs screaming for air, even though he was fine. And it was that he began to panic.

The twenty-year-old sat up, turning his head to the left. If it was even possible, his eyes widened even more than they were before when he saw that only half of the airplane lay scattered in pieces across the shoreline of what he could only assume was an island of some kind, the other halves seemingly nowhere in sight.

His chest was heaving, panicked whimpers escaping his chapped lips, his head whipping around in every direction as he took everything in as quickly as he possibly could. He eventually spotted a blonde woman dressed in pink clothes, standing in the middle of the wreckage, her face contorted in fear and panic as her jaw was wide open. She was screaming, and yet, he couldn't hear her. In fact, he couldn't hear a damn thing.

Tristan reached up with his sand-covered hand to touch his left ear, and when he pulled his hand away, he only began to panic even more when he saw all the red. He was bleeding. He couldn't tell how badly he had been hurt, but he knew it had to be bad enough if he had suddenly become deaf.

His hand was trembling as he continued to stare at the blood coating his fingers. So many thoughts raced through his brain all at once, and it wasn't much later that he began to feel the pain of his injuries. There was a throbbing in his skull, pounding like a heartbeat, and his shoulder was sore.

Then, suddenly, someone was kneeling down in front of him, gently cupping his face in their hands. Tristan looked up, blinking away the harsh sunlight. It was a man. His head was shaved and he wore a suit. He noticed that his lips were moving, and as Tristan furrowed his eyebrows, everything suddenly came into focus and he could hear again.

But if he was being honest, a part of him wished that he was still deaf, for the world around him had suddenly become unbearably loud. So, so, so loud. All he could hear were the sounds of people screaming, mixed with the whirling from the crashed plane, and it did nothing to ease the panic within his heart.

"Hey, kid, can you hear me?" The man asked, pulling Tristan from his thoughts.

He looked at the man again, meeting his concerned gaze, and finally Tristan spoke. "W-We crashed," he managed to get out through panicked breaths.

"I know, kid," the man frowned. "You're in shock. But, it's going to be okay." He gently tilted Tristan's head to the side so that he could get a better look at the wound bleeding profusely down the side of his face. It was a deep cut, one that he knew would require some stitches. "What's your name?"

"Tristan," he replied.

"Well, Tristan, my name's Jack," he introduced himself. "Good thing is you're okay. You've got a gash on your head, maybe a minor concussion. But you're otherwise fine from what I can tell."