Echoes of The Forgotten

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

HE COULD FEEL DEATH STARING AT HIM.

He could feel its claws slowly wrapping around his lungs, squeezing them to breaking point, choking him, suffocating him. He could see its hungry eyes, devoid of any sympathy, any emotion, gaze at him from afar. He could feel himself slowly slipping away, his soul leaving his body and becoming non existent. 

Because what are we, if not tiny, momentary specks within an indifferent universe?

He could feel the sea churning beneath the ship's hull, humming with power, laughing at his helplessness. He was alone, with not a man in sight. Everywhere he looked, everywhere he turned, he only saw that cursed water reflecting his face and his wretched fate. The sun was slowly disappearing beneath the waves, the sky trapped in a seemingly eternal twilight. His hands were trembling. His crew was gone. Taken, beneath the seemingly still, innocent water by the things that lurked beneath its clear façade. Only he was left. But sometimes, he thought it might have been better if he'd died.

It was inevitable, his demise, was it not? 

He tried to remember why he was here, but it became harder. He couldn't think straight anymore. He could see, but not process what he was seeing. He could hear, but he wouldn't understand what he was hearing. It was bliss, ignorance, torture, everything. Everything and nothing at the same time. 

He had set out at sea, trying to find the island. The island. It was supposed to-to make you invincible, to grant you immortality. He remembered being entranced, being fascinated by the legends. He remembered being so eager to try. 

Many before him had tried to find the island as well. None of them had come back. He remembered thinking how he would be the first one to return, triumphant. He had been so hopeful. And now, as he stared at the ocean, waiting for Death to seize him, he realized how utterly useless it all was. 

The ship had suffered a fatal blow, by a cluster of rocks jutting out of the sea like miniature mountains. They had ripped apart the wood and provided a pathway for the destruction to slowly wreak havoc upon the vessel, slowly drowning it like his men did. He saw the journal he'd placed on a crate at the far corner, near the ship's helm. He had begun writing in it, when he felt his brain going numb from being stranded for so long. He had tried to maintain his sanity, to preserve himself. He hobbled towards it, grabbed it, felt the rough paper and the hard cover. He'd found it, tucked into his suitcase, one seemingly normal day. He still couldn't figure out where it had come from. He grabbed the ink pen he'd seen lying discarded on the flor. He picked it up and wrote.

Wrote until the ink ran out and the words dried.

The ship was almost underwater. The top deck, where he was standing, had also started filling with water. He could see the water awaiting him with open arms, wanting him to succumb, to let go. He took a deep breath, though it sounded nothing more than a snake's rattle.

And just before he went underneath the waves, just before the ship groaned and gave up, he spotted what seemed to be a thin stretch of land. His eyes widened, his feet thrashed, his throat let out a horrible wail, a wail so desperate and hopeful it would have made people gauge their eyes out. 

So close.

So close.

Was that the island? Was that his goal, his salvation?

He tried to swim, to steer his way through the wreckage, but it kept pulling him down. He wanted to keep the trees and the sand and the island in sight, but he kept going underwater, the salty liquid burning his eyes. He saw at last, and heard the call, and yet, he could not, he would not go. He could not reach what he saw. He gargled, his vision slowly becoming dark. He noticed the journal was gone, nowhere to be found. He hoped it had survived.

Unlike him.

And what a tragedy it was, a tragedy of a nameless man on a nameless ship searching for a nameless entity, a salvation, a hope he would never be granted. It was sad, yes, and cruel beyond measure. But alas, it was not the last tragedy. It was just one of many. Because there would be more. 

There will always be more.

And that was a promise.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆:*.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

What do you guys think? Why is it that nobody has been able to find the island yet, or return from their voyage? Why did the nameless man assume the journal *cough* hint, hint *cough* had disappeared?

Please upvote and comment if you people liked this chapter, since there are many more to come.