Execution Day

Stranded

                            Witchcraft: The practice of magic, especially black magic.
                                                                                                                                                  

      “I’ll update you later Mom and Dad. From Maelynn - the Bermuda Triangle"
                                                                   
                    P.S Don’t forget to save me some pizza wherever you are!”

I know my father as well as I think I do, he's probably out there somewhere shouting, "Ha! I told you so!" with his moustache twitching at the ends in triumph. Because while I'm willing to admit that, yes me being stuck in the Bermuda triangle is partially my fault, it's also his!

If he hadn't bought me that Percy Jackson book, which I haven't been able to let go of since (it's basically become my lifeline by this point), I would've remembered to check if our bloody boat was headed straight into a storm!

But at this point since my treasure is basically at the bottom of the ocean, I can do nothing but scoff and sink my feet stubbornly into the surprisingly deep sand of the island I'm stuck on. (Thank you, Apollo, I know you're taking you're revenge on me since I didn't read you first)

So, yep, here's the thing. When you think of the Bermuda Triangle, you probably also think, "Storms. Wreckage. Mystery. Deaths. Doom" not necessarily in that order. I know I used to.

But what you won't think of, this I guarantee, is a board the size of Manhattan standing on actual iron bars which are intimidating to such an extent that I'm sure they'll come alive and stab me any second now, spelling the word "S.W.I.T.C.H". And I'm surprised we couldn't see it all the way in my hometown in Wisconsin because other than being freakishly large, it has horrendously bright fairy lights strung over it.

If that doesn't promise 'doom', I don't know what does.

Oh, but dear reader, that's not even the best part. This is. As I'm standing there, dumbfounded, my mouth hanging open, my eyes deciding that, "Maelynn, this is the perfect chance to resemble a manga character so we're just going to go ahead and do that", and my sweat glands working overtime because I just realized I'm stranded here, with this in front of me, my parents probably dead and I have to figure this out, a boy strides out.

His hair is as dark as my soul, his eyes, as dark as an abyss and his face, full and sharp. All of these features are striking but not so much as the yellow paint he's doused in from head to toe. The imaginary warning bells are already ringing in my head.

He's already swearing at the top of his lungs, in a voice that is as rough as sandpaper but also strangely chilling, and in retrospect, throwing my sneakers at him while screaming like a banshee was not the best move I could have made.

This is the point when most characters fall unconscious, and in my humble opinion they do it deliberately so they don't have to face any embarrassment, but whoever wrote my story decided they'd just let me handle the mess. This is exactly what I do as he dodges my sneakers with the agile swiftness of a cat and turns to narrow his almond-shaped eyes.

In the next second, he's towering above me, a blade in his hand that touches my Adam's apple faintly and while my physics grade attests to the fact that I could probably be better, I at least know that the speed he moved with isn't possible or natural. My heart rattles against my ribcage like a frantic prisoner and my next breath retreats before even coming out as I gulp. I try to tell that breath that this is not the time for its drama.

Also, where did he get that blade from?!

He leans in closer, poison dripping from his words like honey and says, “you don't belong here." He enunciates every word, like how one might speak to a toddler.

“Yeah, I definitely don't belong" I squeak in my high pitched voice which always reappears when I'm nervous and feels as if it belongs in a nightcore song. I try to edge forwards towards the place my sneakers breathed their last trying to figure out where exactly is 'here' and why they're welcoming me with such open arms.

Apparently, my new comrade doesn't like this move very much or that I brushed him off with such finesse because he tries to reprimand me while I sidestep him. He's interrupted not-so-ceremoniously soon enough.

"Ray.”

It's a single word yet it is enough to make both of us stop. The one who uttered it is a young woman who speaks it like it is a death sentence she'd rather not give. The first thing I notice is that the lab coat she has donned, which under different circumstances might have been pristine, is smeared on the front with ketchup, colored like a poppy in bloom, which is somehow too dark and too deep to be ketchup. The second is that she has neither frown lines nor smile lines, which cannot be possible.

Her eyes swerve to mine and her hands find refuge in her pockets. She is clearly not happy to see me because even though her body doesn't, her eyes flinch like when a person does when they've smelled something pungent. Her heels clack as she makes her way towards us and the cerulean tips of her platinum hair ripple behind her due to the wind.

“Um, hello! This is all just a misunderstanding. I sincerely apologize if I broke up your party and I'll best be on my way." My cheery and wobbly smile isn't any better than the one in my fourth grade picture which I took with newly-installed braces. At this point I would have gladly drowned just to get her stony, contemptuous stare off me.

She inclines her head infinitesimally towards 'Ray' which must be a signal. How do I know that? Because the next moment I'm knocked flat, sand and gravel digging into my back. She stands over me, legs spread apart as if she's burying me.

There was no conscious thought in my mind then as the light began to fade away and only the blue of the waves tinted my vision but I do remember wondering if I should've thrown my sneakers in the ocean instead. So many secrets I cannot hide. And hearing,

“You'll know before long."

I never did though.