The world was dark when I woke up, and for a moment I thought I had died. Then I heard the crickets, felt my soggy state, and realized that I was still on the island.

  Alone.

  The word that once was only a word now struck me harder than anything else could’ve. I was completely alone on an island with no living things other than creatures that stalked the very ground I tread, and the air I breathed. I perceived this because as I slowly sat up, I saw large footprints right next to where I lay. Even as I saw it, I heard loud breathing and the vibration of heavy footfalls. The print near my head startled me, as I realized that a creature that large had been too close for comfort, meanwhile I had been oblivious to it all.

  It was certainly not without trepidation that I ran — tripping over briar patches and bushes. I whipped my head around, panting. As far as I could see, nothing sought me, and the pursuit, if there was one in the first place, was ended. But the night was dark, and I knew not which direction my shelter was. Still fearing that I was being chased after, I rapidly climbed the nearest tree.

  All of the trees here were similar, and yet so different: all of them had the same twisted look as if they were ancient vines that had grown hard in texture, gradually touched, and then grew around each other. But the tree was thick and I could climb in between the branches that curled like fingers around each other. The particular one I was in was twisted in a diamond shape, and its density made it feel like I was in a hut.

  I barely breathed as I heard the sound of the creature coming nearer: its breathing growing louder, its footsteps amplifying, and I, so focused on it, became mesmerized by the sounds of it and the night, that I almost didn’t notice when the thing I was so intent on seeing walked by. It surprised me — it was not quite as large as I had presumed — about as big as a bear, although not the least like one, not the furry type of creature.

  Scales descended its back, swirling down onto its long tail. It was a lizard and it was huge. About nine or ten feet in length, and its head cocked back and forth curiously. Spikes covered its head like a helmet, and its tongue whipped out and licked its lips. As soon as I saw it, I could tell it knew I was nearby. As my gaze covered its body and size, its eyes flicked in my direction, and as soon as I was brave enough to look out from behind the tree branch that grew upward, I saw it was staring directly at me.

  Its bright orange eyes penetrated my darkest thoughts and secrets, I was sure. But once I caught its eye, I could not release my gaze. The creature’s eyes gleamed mysteriously, and its second white eyelid slapped over its eye and returned to its place. Its nostrils flared and its face twitched oddly. Then it crawled up, the tree I was in, ascending curiously.

  Then as soon as it had crawled up and sniffed my stiff hand, it shimmied back down and disappeared into the forest. Again I was left alone. Although this time I thought more of it as undisturbed. I consented to sleep in the tree, although I stared more at the stars then slept until the first beam of light from the morning sun crept over the trees, casting an iridescent glow on a pool of water.

  ? ? ?

  My shelter was more than a three miles walk away — I’d been able to see that from the treetops — so I decided to make a system through which I’d be able to carry water back since I didn’t know when the next time I’d find clean drinking water would be. The simplest way to do this would be to construct a simple bucket. Which, in a way, was not simple at all. But I did not find this out until I tried to create one.

  I began by taking the substitute knife I’d found on the beach and peeling some trees' bark. I got some similarly shaped straight logs and carved them to be thin and flat. I carefully stole some reeds from the pool near the tree I’d slept in, and set them out in the sun to dry. Meanwhile, I found more branches that I turned into thin, flat pieces of wood. That alone took a few hours.

  I used some more of the thin planks I had made for the bucket to cover the bottom. It wasn’t perfect, since the bucket was semi-round, the bottom was squared which looked rather odd. I covered the edges with some clay I found on the bank.

  Taking the clay, I filled in every crack and crevice, packing it so tightly that if I put on another ounce it would surely burst.

  I let that dry in the sun, and during that time I went out in search of a perfect stick that I could turn into a sword. but upon thinking it over, realized it would not be worth it to make a sharp weapon that was only wooden.

  I found instead a sturdy stick that would be perfect for a bow — and for the string, I used some of the dacron fabric that was in my thin vest and soaked it in water. Then I took the sharp stone, cut strips as thin as possible, and tightly wound them together, forming a long strand of the dacron fabric. I twisted it as tightly as could be and tied the ends to the stick I used for the bow. I found some kind of sap or gum dripping from a tree. I rubbed this on the string until it was soft and bendable. It stayed that way for a little while, but once it dried a bit, I had to reapply it several times until it was firm and slightly flexible.

  My life in a manor with an old man and lots of books and too many teachers and tutors had taught me a thing or two about life skills — especially when searching through the library when I had absolutely nothing else to do and finding a book on how weapons were created. I was mostly interested in the forgery of blades and swords, but I was so engaged in the book that I continued to read into the section on bows and arrows.

  Yet the tricky part was still to come — making the arrows themselves — and I could not do any more work without food. The springwater just wasn’t enough nourishment, and I quickly began worrying about how to get food without weapons.

  I longed back to the berry bush I had so unknowingly walked by after picking from its branches. Working so hard, I hadn’t even noticed the creatures that crept by as I hunched about my work. But as soon as I began to think more and more about food, I noticed little vole-like creatures that scuttled by every so often. They seemed pretty slow, and it was only after a few attempts that I managed to grab one. It squealed and wriggled in my hands, but soon I calmed it, and it made a rather nice pet. Don’t make a friend out of your food, I thought, chuckling. The only way to cook it would be by holding it over the fire that burst out of the ground.

  Remembering that they shot out of little charred holes in the ground, I started searching for one. Soon I did, and there were still hot and burning coals on the outside of it, hot enough to cook the vole, and soon I had a delicious meal (although not fully sustaining).

  I returned to my bucket and found that the clay had completely dried. To test its durability, I filled it with water, and to my surprise, it didn’t leak anywhere. Having finished this, I took the bow I had made, and walked out to the beach, walking back the way I had come to my shelter. I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to find it, and the dark was quickly approaching. Soon, though, it came up, and I almost missed it, too, for it was further inland than I’d remembered.

  I set the bucket down inside my shelter, and some of the water sloshed out onto the sand. Having no bed, I covered myself with the warm sand, resolving to wash in the ocean the following morning. I had been here only a day or two, but already I felt sure that soon I would be leaving. These were only temporarily situated appliances that I wouldn’t need for long, however proud I was of them.

  This thought, I knew, was not a wise one, but it being my strong desire, I dwelled strongly upon it. I didn’t know how I would be leaving, but I thought that maybe the king’s men would return and explain that this was all some kind of test, or something — my reason for getting off the island soon was not reasonable, but I hoped that there soon would be a good reason for something to help me get off it soon.

  The next morning I realized that the tree that supported half of my shelter was hollow. I learned this by sitting up in the morning and banging my head on it. It broke into a little square hole, and that gave me an idea.

  I had been pondering how I should store my water — surely keeping it in a bucket in partial sunlight was not sufficient — animals could drink from the vulnerable water, and the sun’s rays would steal it away. And I wanted to store more close by.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  I then thought of the idea of storing it in the tree. I went back to the pool and got some more clay. I poked a hole in the bottom, and covered it with clay, then covered the hole back up. Taking the bucket, I poured the water into the tree through a hole at the top of the tree (which was low to the ground). I put a plug of sap into the hole I’d made when bumping my head and kept filling it up with water, going back and forth to the pond and filling up the tree with water. Then I removed the plug, and the water slowly poured into the bucket, slightly cloudy with dirt because of the dirty inside of the tree. I dumped each bucket-full outside of my shelter, and finally, the dirtiness of the water lessened.

  I again filled up the tree with water, and this time, it was clean enough for drinking. (Not that the water from the pool was perfectly clean either.)

  Now I had a drinking system and a weapon.

  I remembered that I had not started making any arrows. I began by gathering many sturdy, long sticks. I then took the vole’s teeth (which were surprisingly long and sharp) and whittled them with my sharp rock into the wood. It took a while, and I ended by sticking it together with clay and binding that with dried reeds.

  I shot one onto a tree, and it stuck almost perfectly, although the tooth was a little bent in the stick because the clay had not been fully dried when I shot it. But otherwise, they seemed to work fairly well (though I was mostly proud of the bow, and not as much the arrows).

  But I took them both and went on a hunt through the woods. I shot at some woodland birds but missed them. Soon I came upon a large rabbit that was dog-sized. The perfect target. And it moved slowly through the woods. I bent down and aimed — as I did I noticed the fur of the animal. It looked beautiful and warm, and if a cold season ever came on this island (and I assumed that would be a rainy one since this was more of a tropical island) it would be nice to have warm clothes. My jacket had been torn up to be made used for the bow, and I’d left my shirt in the woods.

  The shot was spot on, but the animal ran into a full sprint, squealing and crying louder than a pig. I chased after it, but it was fast, and soon I was stooped, and panting. But luckily, the animal let out a loud cry, and its heavy footsteps running stopped. Running in the direction that it’d squealed, I found it lying dead and bleeding on the ground. The arrow had hit right behind its ear on its neck. I frowned when, after dislodging the arrow, I saw that it had not gone very deep. Not strong arrows.

  Instead of walking back with the animal, I butchered it on the spot, cooked it (which took a little while), and carried each different piece and cuts back in the large leaves of the Drax Tree (named generously, of course, after Commander Drax for the large size of the leaves and trunk). However, I had to leave the skin of the animal because my arms were full.

  When I returned to bring the skin back, I picked it up, and when I looked up, saw a face peering down at me. It was that lizard again, and I could feel its warm breath on my cheek. It captivated me in its gaze at once, and for some reason, I did not move but stared right back at it. I stumbled backwards, stunned at its sudden appearance. It threw back its head, then leaned forward again and let out a loud cry.

  Birds flew up from the trees, and my hair was all blown completely back. It came closer and showed me its flank. Three arrows were plunged into its side, and dried blood crusted out around the arrows. I immediately noted that these arrows could be of great use to me, but I did not think that the lizard would allow me to dislodge them.

  The lizard roared again, and I immediately decided to name her Myre, which meant “loud one” in the old Marshall language of the Adaesians.

  “Hey, buddy, do you want me to take them out?” I asked, more pondering this deeper to myself than asking the lizard, but it replied in another desperate roar. A hint of sadness in its voice struck me, and I decided I’d pull them out and see what would happen.

  “Okay, here we go,” I said, getting a good grip on the arrow, pulling it a bit to feel how deeply it was in. Somehow my fear of this giant lizard faded, as it brushed my head with its muzzle, whining. I gritted my teeth and yanked as hard as I could.

  A beastly sound burst from Myre, so loud that my temples throbbed. I reached to touch my head when I realized the bloody arrow was still in my hand. I noticed that the fletching of the arrow was a white, feather, stained with blood.

  Suddenly it struck me that these arrows were fresh enough, and couldn’t have shot themselves.

  I looked up, as if the person had been watching me and would now leap out of the bushes. But nothing happened, only the rushing of the wind on the leaves, and the heavy breathing of Myre. I noticed that he was gazing, eyes wide, at the arrow I held.

  “It’s alright, see? I’m fine,” I dropped the arrow. Then I reached for the next one and quickly pulled.

  Even louder, if that was possible, the lizard cried, and I pulled at the next. But this one came out only halfway, and I had to yank it again. Myre cried, and sank to his feet, panting.

  “Hey, you yelled louder than I did when I got an arrow pulled out of me.” After having been alone for only a little while, I’d found myself already talking to myself and animals more often. It was weird to think about.

  Myre cocked her head and grunted.

  “What? You did. It’s not like you heard it, anyway.” Myre cocked her head again and chirped. “Don’t tell me you heard it from here,” I said, my shoulders sagging. Then I laughed and picked up the arrows.

  “We did it, Myre.” The lizard chirped again and raised her head. She was shy again, and shimmied behind a tree, then peeked out. For such a large lizard, she was rather sweet. I began walking back to my shelter, and she pranced behind me, following at a distance. I walked a quarter mile before turning around, and saying, “You won’t back off, will you?” A grin tugged at the corners of my mouth, and the creature just cocked its head and whistled. I chuckled and continued into my shelter.

  It was dark by now, and I used the remainder of the evening to clean off the arrows. There were only two of them since I accidentally broke one while dislodging it from Myre. But they were beautifully made, crafted, I could tell, by someone with skill and knowledge in that work.

  Meanwhile, Myre sat outside of my shelter watching me, her paw, or hand, over the other, and her head sitting on her arms. I washed the arrows in my bucket, with some of the water slowly trickling from my water hole tree down into the bucket. The sunset, and still, she stayed, even for supper. I fed her the meat I had dried that day after cutting it into strips. I filled the bucket, and let her drink too.

  I laid down on the bank next to Myre. She was hopping up every minute, prancing about, then sitting down again, looking at the sunset as if she had been sitting there for hours. The tropical breeze blew through and rustled my hair. I pulled a hand through it and noticed how long it had grown in just a few days. It was so long I could pull the front down, and could see its color. It was darker colored before, but now it was a lighter brown, and slightly wavy.

  When I pulled my hand from my hair, Myre, reached over and bit my hair with her lips. She placed a paw on my head, or more, since I was lying down, on my face.

  “Thanks, Myre,” I said, both my voice and laugh muffled.

  The next day, she was gone. She was probably hunting, or off on some kind of lizard business. I was worried despite the cogent reasons for her disappearance. I had nothing else to do after eating a breakfast of more meat (all the while feeling bad I was so easily turning into a secondary eater), so I began to walk the coastline.

  The sand was already very hot, even though the morning sun was fresh. I had taken off my boots and left them in my shelter, wanting them to stay clean since I knew I would most definitely not be able to make something like that. My craftsmanship skills did not extend to quite that level.

  But now I regretted it, as walking on the sand I felt little pinpricks all over my feet. At first, I thought it was just the heat of the sand, but one pricked even harder, and I jumped.

  “Ow,” I scowled and looked at my foot. A little creature had pinched it with its claw and was dangling from my foot. I tore it off and studied it.

  It was crablike, with a hard exoskeleton and claws, but it was very flat as if someone had stepped on it, and small. Its underside was so tender, even jiggly, that it looked like a piece of animal fat, and I was immediately surprised it hadn’t melted in the hot sand. I then noticed the claws of these creatures sticking up out of the sand. One snatched a bug and pulled its claw back underneath the sand.

  It was like walking across a flat of spikes. I took my dull knife and cut off its exoskeleton. Cutting it open, only a few bits and pieces of its gut fell out, and the rest was all meat (or fat). After washing it in the ocean, I tasted a bit of it raw. The flavor was indescribable — I couldn’t tell if it was indescribable in a good way or bad — and the texture was terrible for meat. It melted on my tongue like a piece of candy and dissolved into a mellow-like juice.

  They seemed to be edible and able to be eaten raw, so I shrugged and decided to collect some more.

  I spotted a larger, blacker one, and ran over to where it was buried in the sand. It was much bigger than all the other ones, and I pulled it out by its claw. For some reason, it was harder to pull out, and soon I realized it was not a small sand creature.

  It was a large, reed-made mask with red and bright red paint covering it. Holes were cut for the eyes and mouth, and spikes stuck out along the top.

  As soon as I recognized what it was, I heard a loud shriek from Myre.

  Then I heard voices, and I realized I was not alone.

  The Marshall Islands consist of several islands, one of them being the Calham Island. The Marshall Islands were only another province of Adaesia.