The Pendant

Chapter 1

I grabbed a hold of the pocket knife that laid beneath the weary palm frond, drenched from last nights downpour. The silver lettering of the logo glistened while being exposed to the sun for the first time in over ten hours, vividly reading: Spyderco Delica. Water oozed out of the open socket of the blade as I flicked it open, revealing the serrated edge. Pressing it against my cold, soil stained forearm I began to burrow it into my flesh, casually then with a rapid stroke, leaving a gash. Blood began confessing out of my tissue. My pulse, rhymically moving with each drop of blood. Untroubled by the pain stinging throughout my arm. I cupped a handful of sand, a pile untouched by last nights showers, and gently caressed my forearm to quiet the bleeding. Kneeling down on both knees I nestled the blade onto the sand, still grasping onto the slit in my arm, applying pressure, eventually ceasing the flowing liquid. I toppled onto my side then turned to rest on my back. Letting the suns rays consume my carcass as it basked blissfully for a moment or two. My arms stood erect. Peering past them, the sky shed a breath taking array of shades, from frosted teals to magnifying magentas. Focusing my eyes back toward my arms, fifty-six impaled slits howled back at me.

    "Fifty-six." I whispered, my voice still raspy from waking. Fifty-six wasn't just a number to me, it held significance. Just like fifty-five had meaning to me yesterday and fifty-four the day before. My arms showcased one bloody calendar. Fifty-six representing the amount of days I've been stranded on this god forsaken island, savagely barking at me with every glance I made towards it. It also meant one day closer to being rescued. Or perhaps one day closer towards my expiration. This timetable was the only thing keeping me levelheaded. If it's one thing I won't allow it's to lose myself in this mental war I have dilating in my mind. Battling these urges of insanity, fighting against the insufficient amount of stability I have left in my brain. I'll be damed, if I ever come face to face with this monster, the one slowly possessing my intellect, I'll personally put an end to it.

    With the ounce of strength I had built up inside of me this morning, I managed to hoist myself up and walk towards the shoreline. Deja vu? These actions repeated themselves, playing over and over again like a broken cassette tape.

Wake Up

Mark Another Day

Survive.

SURVIVE, SURVIVE, SURVIVE.

     The mornings were hot, tolerable, but hot. Everything else, leading up to sunset could easily turn you into a mad man. Your skin boiled, the heat waves held no remorse towards the inhabitants of these grounds. Resting in the thickest of shade would make the blood in your veins bake, your skin indent, slowly bubbling in the shield of your capillary. If you weren't coated by a thick layer of muck you'd be entirely covered by puss oozing blisters. This I learned the hard way.     The nights were a lot more comfortable. As though a sheet of cool air had been swept across the entire island in just a matter of minutes after sundown. This is when I did my hunting. Such a sweet, sweet game I make out of it. My eyes have gradually harmonized along with the tunes of the night, making me the ultimate predator in the dead of the dark. If only I discovered these abilities sooner. For the longest time I strayed away from killing, fueling my body with nuts, fruits, and sea grasses. My body being vulnerable at that time, lacked the vital proteins used to protect my anatomy and replenishing my energy. This is how I believe the monster came in, like a parasite leeching on it's host, catching me at my weakest.

    I settled my hand in the water. Taking my thumb and pressing around my gash, I began washing off the excess sand and blood that encased my forearm. I've become immune to the pain, my nerves were no longer triggered by Derco and I's morning rituals. Looking beyond the sea, the sun was just hitting the horizon, giving me enough time to prepare for the scalding day ahead. Behind my shelter, about twenty feet out, rested a running river of muck. I used this mud to mask any visible skin found on my body. The sludge acted in more ways than one, being my only source of an SPF too providing me with camouflage against potential predators.

    On schedule with my usual routine, I grabbed the basket I had woven from the fallen palm fronds and grape vines and began my hike through the bush, in search of food. It was an hour into walking that the once boisterous chatter of the woods ceased. It no longer echoed the apes chants nor did you hear the thundering crash of the waterfalls. Just silence. A gust of wind blew in from between the trees, carrying with it an unfamiliar clamor. I followed this rumble until it was the only sound present in the jungle, the crashing and commotion grew greater with each given step. I crouched under a thick bush and military crawled through it until I could get a good glance on what was happening. The thorns scrapped into my skin, slicing me lightly as I crept. Needing to open my line of sight, I reached for the branch in front of me, slowly pulling it to get a view of what was happening. The sound was roaring, getting progressively louder as I pulled on the stem. Before I could get a good grip as to what was going on, fear struck my entire body. I couldn't fathom what I was seeing. Laying there paralyzed by the rush of anxiety racing around inside of me. Before I could gather my thoughts, I was grabbed. Pulled up from inside the bush, the thorns cutting deeper into me, shredding through me effortlessly until the ripping settled. I was never a man whom believed in god, but in that moment, I prayed for a miracle.

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