Jordyn

Eventually, the lion decides that I'm too boring and lopes back off into the woods. I turn around to face the ocean. If either was going to kill me, they would have done so before now.

I make a mental note that the giant black lions either don't like sunlight or water. Maybe both.

I sit staring out at the ocean and watch it catch the light from the sun overhead like a mirror. It reflects the blue of the perfect sky with precision, although I can see it's as clear as glass. From here, the sand slopes down into the water and disappears at a drop-off only a few feet from the shoreline.

Fish swim back and forth and dart around each other. Each of them are a sleek silver with a bright red line down the center of their backs. A turtle swims by with patient speed, but it's smaller than I remember sea turtles being. The neon green shell on its back flashes as it passes my sight.

How I know the names of these things is a mystery, like the information is all present but the memory of how I learned it is gone.

I dig through my mind again in an effort to remember what I know about the island I've been imprisoned on. There's more than one manufactured prison around the world. This is the tropical one. Why couldn't I have been placed in the woodland one or the desert one?

Anywhere but here would have been a smidge better.

My subconscious knows why they chose this one, though, even if my brain denies it.

These new prisons are designed to capitalize on a person's greatest fear, the thing that cripples them. They then use that knowledge to make the last few days of their existence miserable, to drive them insane before their gruesome death.

My throat knots up as I look out at the glassy ocean. I envision a thousand ways it could kill me.

I could be sucked to the drop off and never resurface. A shark could swim up and devour me in one giant bite. Those fish could be electric, and they might nibble at my toes until I lose control of my legs.

You can drown in a teaspoon of water, and that's en entire ocean of it.

Why does my brain chose to remember that but not my last name?

I continue to stare until the sun dips towards the horizon. If I stare at it long enough, squinting so that it doesn't burn half as bad, I can see the circle moving. Is time moving faster, or am I imagining things?

What else do I know about The Island?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

They must've wiped my memories before I got here.

Where do I come from? Do I have siblings? Parents? What's my last name? How did I get caught?

More importantly, why did I commit arson in the first place?

The questions multiply exponentially, until I feel overwhelmed and clamp my hands over my ears. I shake my head until it clears, but I'm left feeling just as hollow as before. Maybe it was better when I had the questions to keep me company.

Speaking of company, I wonder if I'm alone on this island.

Knowing the designers, they placed crazy natives somewhere in the woods, robots with bows and arrows dipped in poison. Every aspect of this place was designed to kill me. The speed and events of my death, though, are left up to whoever works the controls.

I decide right then that even if there are people on the island, I need to go this alone. Even my fellow inmates might be driven crazy to the point of murder.

I still can't stay on the beach, though.

Warnings about the water flit through my head, high tide being one. When the moon comes out, if there is one, the water will rise and bring all the sea creatures with it. The tide dwellers will crawl up out of the sand and wreak havoc on land.

I don't want to be here when that happens.

So, I push up and brush the flecks of salt-colored sand off my jumpsuit. My feet sink into the ground beneath me, and it gathers between my toes.

I look left, right, and then behind me.

The woods don't look inviting. The way the trees loom remind me of skyscrapers and giants. A memory flashes through my head of a city made of tall buildings that blocked out the sun and casted eternal shadows in alleys. The smell of garbage taints the picture in my head, and rats the size of my forearm dart in and out of the image.

Not only do the trees scare me, but the possibility of more animals hiding in there drives me to think of another option. The lion was just one mutant out to kill me. There could be a thousand more lurking behind the bushes, under the rocks, and above the trees. And once I go in there, I'm blind and left to stumble around in the dark.

No, I'm definitely not going in there.

That leaves me with two options- left or right.

To my left, a stretch of white and blue greets me as far as I can see. To my right, the beach curls away out of sight. The uncertainty of what lies around the corner drives me to wheel to the left and begin walking.

Moving through the sand is harder than I anticipated. The coarse grains suction my feet in, and I'm forced to hoist my knees up like I'm trudging through mud. I walk no more than ten minutes before I'm out of breath, panting and sucking in gulps of hot, salty air.

More depressing still, I don't see any sort of shelter. No sign of life- now or ever before. I don't feel the great need to find anyone, but a shack or lean-to would be good to protect me from the elements. Who knows what will happen after the sun goes down.

The sand under my feet turns to rock, and the ground slopes upward. I stomp sand off my feet and inspect the rock I stand on. It seems to be all connected, like someone just dropped it here. It's solid and untouched by erosion or weathering. Not a single crack marks the surface.

I climb to the very top of the rock and gasp as the scene unfolds before me.

Atop this platform, I see a small alcove of beach below me and more of the ocean as it expands in every direction. I must be at one of the two ends of the island. Judging by the fact that the sun sets to my left, I would bet the north end.

Sharks, huge and black, swim under the transparent water, surrounded by schools of the silver and red fish. Colorful coral and white seaweed collects on the shelf under them and dances in the currents.

The alcove is just as empty as the rest of the beach.

I can't see under the rock, which means that the elements can't reach me there, either. It's the perfect place to hide.

On my hands and knees, I slide down the side of the rock, using my toes to grip and my shaking arms to lower myself. Once I reach the end of the rock, I let go and fall to the ground with a soft thud. Cool air reaches out to kiss my face, and I hurry into the welcome shade that the rock provides.

I check every corner of the darkness, behind every rock, and under every shadow to make sure that no one or nothing is hiding. When my paranoid mind is satisfied, I settle down in the sand. Where I lower myself is still warm, somehow, even though I know the sun hasn't touched it since it rose earlier this morning.

With the sun behind me now, everything begins to fall into darkness. I can't see the trees anymore, but I hear them rustle as things move around. Birds cry out from all angles. Cats hiss. Wolves howl. Monkeys screech. Everything sounds mechanical, though, unnatural.

I picked the best option. There's no way I would survive a night under those trees.

I wrap my arms around my knees and yawn as fatigue catches up with me.

"I should build a fire," I whisper to myself as the temperature drops another few degrees. In an hour's time, I'll be frozen solid.

What would it hurt?

So, I sigh and set to gathering up scraps of sticks that litter the shoreline of my hide-out. They're pathetic little twigs and stripped of all bark and greenery. Salt water washed them out and faded them into whiteness.

I pile up the bones and walk out a little further to gather rocks.

The best ones lie out under the water, but the closer I get the harder my heart pounds. The fear that I could be taken grips my shoulders and pulls me back towards the safety of the shelter.

I don't need rocks to build a fire.

It won't get too big.

Shaking my head, I give up on the pebbles and walk back to my pile.

Wait, how do I even build a fire?

Before the question even finishes forming in my mind, my hands go to work. They move without my mind telling them what to do and seperate my sticks into two different piles. Words rush to my mind. Kindling and tinder.

My face burns red in the faint light as I realize how I know how to do this.

Did I ever build a campfire under a porch or in the middle of my victim's kitchen?

I bite my lip and shake the thoughts away to continue building the fire.

First, I bundle the smaller sticks into the center of a hole I dug out in the sand. Then, I start building a triangle with the larger sticks, leaving gaps just big enough for me to get the embers inside.

Wait. How in the world am I supposed to get fire?

I strain to remember, because I know good and well I've done this before. It's too familiar, too etched into my muscle memory. I could use a lighter. Hopeful, I check my pockets once again, only to be disappointed.

Come on, mind. Don't fail me now.

I groan at the answer my messed up puzzle gives me.

Rocks, dry grass, and a sturdy branch.

Where will I have to go to get those things?

The woods.

With a groan, I push off the sand and make my way back up the side of the rock towards the treeline.

By now, darkness settles over the jungle like fog, tinted pink from the orange of the sunset behind it. Reds mar the bark of the trees and catch on the green leaves and needles. It looks as if the jungle is dripping blood.

I pick up a rock first, thankful that I only had to take one step into the blood bath. Then, I grab a solid branch and snap it off the closest tree. It groans at me, and I rush back before the tree tries to eat me.

Surely I'm not scared of trees too.

After some straining and groaning, I have a small ember. With a yelp of excitement, I shake the burning grass into the center of my triangle - no, it's called a teepee - and blow on it like I might a butterfly that had landed on me.

I feel like an idiot, but at this point, I have to trust my body. Muscle memory led me to this point, and it hasn't failed me yet.

Within seconds, the fire rages. Blue flames stretch towards the oranges and reds of the sky with fingertips reaching for an escape from the dome. I fold my legs in front of me and watch the colorful mirage.