by Layal Hilal
Maria
We’ve been here awhile. Like, a while.
It’s been almost a month of living on this island, right smack dab in the middle of…somewhere. Nowhere. The ocean. Speaking of, we—me, Sally, and Sarah—sort-of-kind-of-maybe-I-don’t-know got rid of Michael’s pathetic fear of water. I mean, he can touch water now… which is good, because otherwise we wouldn’t be able to test out Sally’s flying-power thing, since we need to have Sally hold everyone as she flies and see how long she can hold it for, and we can’t do that if Michael can’t look at water without having a panic attack.
On a slightly different note, we also got rid of my bracelet tracker. Well, we think we did. Turns out the thing is pretty much indestructible. Nothing breaks it. Not rocks, not sand, not sticks, not Sally’s dagger…and that’s pretty much all we have on this island. At least, that’s what we thought, until Sarah had the bright idea to use the sea water. So we dunked the bracelet underwater for almost half an hour. After time was up, my whole arm was numb, but it was worth it, because the blinking light that had been flashing nonstop before had turned off, and tiny little hairline cracks had appeared all over the tracker. So, we took that as a sign that it was broken.
Of course, we’re not sure, but when you’ve been living on an island in the middle of the ocean after being captured by an evil person, kept in jail, forced to kill your friends, then killed the man who tried to make you kill your friends, then flew on Sally the Taxi halfway across the ocean and helped your best friend-boy overcome his fear of water, built crude teepees all over the island, survived off dates, coconuts, and purified salt water, and did that for a month, (so far), ‘pretty sure’ pretty much means: 10000% yes, absolutely, definitely, it worked, etc. So…it worked.
Plus, we’re not dead yet.
Isn’t that great?
Michael
Sometimes I think my friends want to torture me. What is it with them and the obsession with water? Well, Maria and Sally have sort of decent reasons, like I need to get used to water so we can be ready if Alinos attacks us, even though we got rid of the tracker, or that I’m going to be around water for at least 80% of the rest of my life, not including the fact that I’m partly made of water. But I think Sarah gives me ‘swim lessons’ just so she can see me writhe like a baby when she sticks my head underwater. I’ve already made so much progress in a month! I can look at water now, and I can touch it with my hand, and stick my toes in the ocean!
Victory, am I right?
I don’t know why they keep pressuring me to do more. Well, I guess they don’t know why I’m scared of water. They’ve definitely asked…but I can’t tell them. I won’t. It’s not the type of thing you share with lifelong best friends that you’ve been captured with, lived on an island with, or fought in an arena. Let alone telling Sally. At least I’ve known Maria and Sarah for most of my life. Sally, I’ve barely known her for a year, ever since the China adventure.
Anyway, I was five years old…probably almost six. I had a babysitter, and she was nice. She always brought chocolates when she came to sit for me, and she never forgot to give me two dollars and a hug before she left. (Two dollars was a lot of money to me back then.) Then, one July, she took me to the pool. She stuck my head underwater and held it there. She tried to drown me. Well, not really. She did drown me. Except I didn’t die. She left me floating in the pool, my heart quiet and my brain numb. Then the next day, at 8:00 am sharp, I took a deep breath, opened my eyes, and stared wonderingly at the poster of Spider-Man on my wall. With great power comes great responsibility.
At the time, I was sure that I had a superpower. Maybe two! I had breathed underwater and then teleported back to my room. I was a superhero! So the next time when the babysitter came to sit for me, instead of telling on her, I ignored the shocked look on her face and pretended like nothing happened. I don’t know if I was actually consciously aware that no one would believe me, or maybe I just wanted to see what would happen. Well, she tried to drown me again that day, probably thinking that I had short-term memory loss or something, left me in the pool…and the next day, I was back in my room. After that, I was sure that I had superpowers. And at first, it was fun to keep dying, then keep on coming back to life. But by the time I was ten, I would have nightmares every night about death, water, and even sixteen year old girls. And twice a week, like clockwork, I would die. And live. I don’t know why the sitter wanted me dead, or why I could breathe underwater and teleport and die-not-die, or why she didn’t stop sitting for me, or why she wasn’t scared that I could tell on her.
All I know is that I didn’t tell anyone. No one would believe me. So, for seven whole years, I died 112 times. Or…something like that. Until I was twelve years old, when I was old enough to be at home alone. And I never touched water again.
“Michael!” Sarah screams, drawing me out of my depressing past and halting the tiny tears pooling in my eyes.
“Sarah?” I say. What now?
Sarah
Cliff. Cliff cliff cliff cliff cliff cliff cliff cliff cliff cliff cliff cliff cliff cliff—Falling falling falling falling falling falling falling falling—Maria Maria Maria Maria Maria Maria Maria Maria Maria Maria Maria Maria Maria Maria Maria Maria—Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow…my back. My arms. My legs. My back. My butt. Ow.
“Michael!” I scream. “Sally!” Primal scream time. I take a deep breath. “MARIA!!!!!!”
Here is my current predicament:
I am hanging off a tree growing out of a cliff side, my arms and legs and parachute tangled in its branches, and a cracking sound is emitting from the branch keeping my body from plunging to its death.
Here is my previous predicament:
Maria took me to the top of a ‘mountain’ on this lovely island to ‘gather feathers’. I stood on a cliff, picking up giant eagle feathers, when Maria shoved something onto my back, said, “pull the cord”, and shoved me off the cliff. I fell. I didn’t scream, because my brain wasn’t working, but as I saw a whole lot of sand getting closer and closer to my face, the gears started churning and I pulled a tiny little string dangling over my shoulder. Correction: tried to. It was jammed. So as my stomach stuck itself to my throat, and the cold air slapped my face as punishment for doing nothing, and the choppy blue water and pale beige sand grew more and more detailed, and I flailed in midair, doing somersaults and tuck-and-rolls, I pulled on the tiny string with all my might, twisted myself into a yoga-master pose, muttered, “come on, you stupid thing”, slapped my back (the parachute bag was on my back) against the rocky cliff, and…my stomach fell out of my throat and settled in comfortably next to my feet as I became conveniently tangled in a weird tree. And then I tried not to throw up.
So…yeah.
I patiently wait for my friends to come save me as I close my eyes and pray to God that I don’t die today. Not like this. Right on time, Michael’s head appears at the top of the cliff.
“Sarah?!” He exclaims.
“Hi,” I respond. “Help.”
A few minutes later, Michael ‘rappels’ down the cliff and helps me climb back up as I scream at him to not say anything to me. When I’m safe and alive and injured but not dead, I say, “thanks”, and then walk off to go kill Maria.
Sally
Naps are nice.
You have all these fun dreams that will never come to fruition, and you have all these nightmares that will. Better than real life, though. At present, I’ve just woken up from a weirdly nice dream about being eaten by a shark. I’ve been having weird dreams like that ever since we arrived here.
Just last night, I dreamt that elves came from Mars and sentenced us to a sad life inside a black hole, then gave us all mind reading powers and trapped us in the underworld with Persephone as our jailer, and then Percy Jackson came to save us but turned out to secretly be Luke…Skywalker and used his lightsaber to turn us into steak with a side of mashed potatoes, which was a mushed Persephone, and then he force-fed us M&M cookies until we exploded and showered earth in chocolate and peanut butter and peanuts and food coloring.
If only I had my books, I could probably decode that dream into something sort of reasonable, like the end of the world is in 53 minutes and 21 seconds.
“Hello.”
I close my eyes tighter. Stupid dreams, making me think stupid things about stupid people.
“Sally. Hello?”
Annoying dreams. Stop it. I squeeze my eyes tighter.
“Sally!”
A sharp pressure is applied to my neck, and I gasp and open my eyes.
“There we go.”
Alinos
Kids. Sweet kids. Sweet kids who are scared of family and water and heights and dreams…and me. Sweet, sweet kids.
I apply a tiny bit more pressure to the girl’s neck, causing her veins to pulse and her forehead to throb and her breath to come out in short, quick bursts. A little more…and…
“S-Stop! P-p-please…” she begs. “M-my dreams t-told me—agh!” My fingers begin to turn purple, just like her skin.
Dreams, huh? So this is Sally. The dream one.
“I think not, Sally,” I cackle. I can feel the strength of Sally’s muscles. Stronger than anyone knows, I would think. Luckily, I’m stronger.
Crack!
One down, three to go.
Maria (Five (Or so) minutes earlier)
This has been an eventful day. Sarah got thrown off a cliff by me, Michael saved her, Sally had a dream about being eaten by a shark…that’s more action than we usually—
Maria! Come down to the beach, now! Sally mentally sends.
What’s wrong? I shoot back.
Alinos—
Before Sally’s even finishes her transmission, I’m running towards the beach. By the time she’s finished, I’m there. Alinos is choking her, his fingers locked around her neck. Her eyes stare at me through the bush I’m hiding behind.
Maria, I’m a Seer. That’s her last transmission. Then Alinos tightens his grip and she’s gone.
I press a hand to my mouth, staring. Sally…she’s dead. She’s gone. She’s cold and unmoving and silent and…a Seer. Sally’s a Seer! I gasp inaudibly.
So, Michael’s a Teleporter and an Illusionist. He can teleport places and create illusions of things that aren’t actually there.
Sarah’s a Memoir. She holds other people’s memories. Certain people, only those who she’s close with.
Sally is—was—a Seer and a Levitator. She can tell the future based on her dreams and she can make herself and other things fly.
And me…I’m a Telepath. I can hear other people’s thoughts when I choose to, and other people can ‘transmit’ thoughts to me if they want. I can communicate back.
So…it’s us. Sally was right. We’re the ones the prophecy was talking about. With a few extra powers, yes, but it’s us. Thirty-one days. An ocean of tears. A death unexpected…it’s us.
Thirty-one days, an ocean of tears, a cage which held those who you hold dear. An accursed devil, a death not expected, throughout the fabric of time, you have been connected. The chosen four must unite together, different powers each will possess. One who sees the future in dreams, her destiny is not a guess, and she hovers over the world, protecting slaves wishing to be sold. One who moves from place to place at the speed of light (and changes reality). One who reads thoughts, they’re always right. And one who holds other’s lives near her heart, other people’s pasts, from her, they won’t be apart. On the thirty-first day of isolation, the four must rise and from desperation, they must allow their hearts to soar above the sea, they must find the mainland, and then they will be free.
I stare at Sally’s limp body on the shore, Alinos smiling cruelly at her form. My mind connects with Sarah and Michael’s, and they’re together, walking along the beach. Thank god. Sarah scans the shore.
No sign of Maria, she thinks.
Hang on…where’s Sally? Michael wonders.
Sally’s gone, Michael. It’s up to us now. We have to fulfill the prophecy. It’s not a choice. Me, Michael, Sarah, Alinos. We’re all a part of the prophecy, we’re all on the same island, we’re all alive. We have to stop Alinos. At the very least, we have to trap him here. It’s the only choice. Come on, Universe. Help us out here.
I shudder. A sob slips through my lips. And I mourn. For Sally…and for us.
Okay! So, that’s that. No, the story’s not over. Because…you’re going to finish it. Edit it, change it, fix it, improve it, whatever you want. To be honest, I couldn’t think of a satisfactory ending for this story. I hope you can, though!
3…2…1, write!
The Lighthouse 