text: The Archipelago publishes every Wednesday. See the pinned comment for links to the contents. \ I spent my first night on the island lying close to the fire, waking constantly to chuck on more wood between being serenaded to bouts of sleep by the gulls that swooped over the island. When I woke the next morning, I felt hydrated and warm enough, but now my stomach grumbled. Returning to the forest, I hunted for something edible. During my previous trips I was already aware of the lack of fruits hanging from the trees, or bushes ripe with harvest. Autumn had arrived. Whatever colour filled this forest a few months ago, was now nothing but inedible browns and greens. The only nutrition were small berries on some of the bushes. They were tiny red beads, firm to the touch. As I picked them off the stems, they held their shape, the juice inside unmoved. I lifted one to my mouth and tried to take a small nibble out of the side. My teeth slid across the hard waxy surface as the berry plopped back out of my mouth and into my hand. I tried again, grating the outside with my incisors until the skin pierced. I felt the gentlest release of pressure, yet tasted nothing. No sugar, no vitamins. I could just feel the flecks of floating skin, and the droplets of additional moisture. At least though, they didn’t taste sour or rotten. They were edible. Still, whatever sustenance the tiny red dots would provide wasn’t enough. What I really needed to survive here was protein. I needed meat. I knew how to fish. I was good at it. But fishing required a line, and there was no one here to trade me the string. It would need a hook too, and one man couldn’t form a mine to get the ore to forge the metal to create one simple hook. The end skill, the one I knew, was the last step in a long line of those needed. And without the ones before, I was useless. Above the trees, I could hear the squawks of the gulls. A meal, riding the air currents, taunting me from the sky. If only I could lure one to land. I tried the next day to use the berries as bait, placing a small nestle of them on a rock near the shore. A bright red trap backdropped by grey stone. Yet nothing came. I sat some thirty metres away, nibbling away on my own branch of the thin pellets unable to blame the gulls for being disinterested. If I could dive into the ocean for fish I’d be doing the same. By the time the sun began to fall on my fourth day on the island, I could feel the hunger taking its toll. It was no longer a pain or discomfort. My whole body felt tired, limbs burning energy that wasn’t there, fire burning in hollow arms and legs. With no energy and no place to go, my body had been allowed to wallow in its weariness, and I found myself spending more and more time simply staring into space. I needed a break from the atrophy and so I forced myself to walk to the western tip of the island. I told myself I needed the firewood, but truth be told there was still plenty closer to the campfire, and I had already added enough large logs to the fire that it was now nothing short of a pyre. More in danger of spreading than simply petering out. It was a nice evening for the stroll. The air was crisp, and the light had dimmed to a calm twilight. Soft waves lapped up against the shore, the sea so much calmer than the waters that had brought me here. Maybe it too was tired. My train of thought was broken by something at the corner of the beach. Two seagulls stood squabbling, jostling with each other. They hadn’t noticed me, too busy squaring off with each other. Their beaks were open, preparing to attack. One jolted forward, and the other met it, their beaks clacking like swords. Then they reared their heads back, waiting for the next strike. The one nearest me flapped its wings, hovering briefly above the ground. In the space I could see what had caused the fight. Another gull, this one very much dead. The corpse lay on its back, wings splayed. There were blotches of red, large gaping wounds that had been picked at by the scavengers. Loose feathers littered the nearby stones and a still, beady eye stared back at me. The birds resumed their standoff. This was my chance. I crouched down and began slowly moving towards them, trying to tread softly. The stones shifted and clinked beneath my feet, but the sound was masked by the lapping waters and clapping beaks. I got closer. The birds were only ten or so metres away. The sea seemed to grow louder, the tides slightly faster, the waves driving me on. Do it! Do it! the waves whispered to me. Charge! Run! Kill! I tried to ignore the sea’s agitations. The gulls were still engaged in their dance, their wings outstretched, as they shimmied around the corpse, trying to intimidate the other into submission. I trod on a loose stone. It slid hard against its neighbours, who in turn rolled against theirs. A cascading echo rolled through the earth, the sound running through the cavernous gaps between the rocks and blaring like a siren into the air. The gulls looked up. Their heads turning to me. Then, they flew. Both knew a bloated corpse wasn’t worth dying over. I was alone on the beach again. Just me and the dead stare. I walked over and inspected the corpse more closely. It had clearly been dead a while. One wing bent awkwardly and poked up to the air, while its rigid legs pointed to the sea. Gashes where the other gulls had attempted to get to the offal inside could be seen along its distended belly. Most of all, the bird stank; the odour of decay that rots at the inside of your nose. The gulls’ stomachs could handle this carrion. Mine could not. But it was bait. One I knew they liked. I picked up the bird by its neck, the stiff frame holding its form. A small part of my insides rolled just from the touch and I could feel my oesophegus tighten with nausea as the smell grew closer. I kept my arms outstretched, keeping the carcass as far away as I could, and retreated to the campfire. The next day I set about creating my trap. The bait lay on the rocks while I dug a small crevice ten or so metres away, enough to lie in and try to appear as small as possible. Between me and the target, was the longest branch I could find - a thick and waving trunk. Light for its size, but still carrying the impact of a club. The middle of the branch balanced on a rock, with the rest held in the air. The result was a heavy branch with a single point of friction that,with one quick jolt of my arm, would move with speed and force over the the target. The trap was makeshift, and I was certain an experienced hunter could do better. But I was improvising from what little I knew. One person, with no real knowledge, guessing their way to hopeful survival. I tried to make myself comfortable among the jagged pebbles and stones of the beach. As I peered over the top of my small trench, watching the lifeless feathers waiver in the breeze. I thought back to Alessia, how easy she’d probably find this. She was always a step closer to the source of a problem than I was, a few less levels of abstraction. “I suppose you’d have a better plan,” I muttered to her apparation, under my breath. “You probably used to capture birds all the time.” I imagined her response. The way her tongue stuck between her teeth when she was being cheeky. \*Can you even move fast enough to pull this off?\* “We’ll find out. But I don’t have a better idea. I wanted to tie a knot in some string, but...” \*No string.\* “Exactly. So the branch it is.” \*You reckon you can kill a bird with this thing.\* “Probably not. But maybe stun it. Give me enough time to get over there and grab it.” \*And then what?\* “We’ll ride that wave when we get to it.” A gull landed near the corpse. It tilted its head, eying up the offering, moving closer in short and stuttered steps. \*Be patient\* “I know,” I whispered. The gull arrived by the bait, its head centimetres from the pole. My stomach grumbled with anticipation, but I could see the wariness in the bird’s eyes. I had to ensure the bird gave into hunger before I did. The gull picked tentatively at the corpse with its beak. After a couple of pokes it took a more definitive strike, trying to pierce through the skin. \*Now\* As its head reared back up, I swung the branch. The bird turned to see the pole and flapped its wings in reflex desperation, trying to escape. The pole made contact, but the moment of flight cushioned the blow, and the gull rolled backwards across the beach. I scrambled to my feet, just in time to watch the gull find its footing and take to the air. My lungs deflated as the bird glided across the sea towards safety. Failure. \*You swung the pole too soft.\* “I know. Move the axis back and I’ll get a harder swing.” \*That bird was quick too\* “Exactly. Maybe the next one will be slower.” Buoyed, I set the trap back up and returned to my spot. It took maybe half an hour for the next bird to arrive. This one looked older. It’s chest bulged with years of survival on the ocean. It strode up to the carrion and began pecking at the skin, undisturbed by the pole poised by its skull. I let it relax, get a few pecks in, let its mind concentrate on the meat. Then, wham. With a sharp jerk of the branch, the pole slammed into the bird’s neck and it rolled across the ground. I jumped to my feet and sprinted to the bird. The gull righted itself, shaking its head, as I dived towards it. It tried to take off, but I grabbed a leg, and the bird thudded back to the ground. My fist tightened on the limb as a sharp beak turned and began pecking at my hand. They were pin pricks at first, but then the beak jabbed hard. A spasm of pain ran through my wrist. In reflex, I opened my hand. I screamed, a small amount in pain, mostly in exasperation, as the bird took to the sky and left me. Again. Failure. \*Did you not think the bird would fight back?\* I sat down, checking my hand for cuts. “Not that much.” I sighed. “I’m going to die here aren’t I? Starve to death.” \*Have more faith in yourself. \* “I’m not sure I can do this.” \*Yes you can. You may have grown up some sheltered boy in Kadear, but you’ve survived worse than this.\* “I feel like I should be better at this. Others would be better. You would be better.” \*Humans are social creatures. We thrive off each other. You’re never meant to have to do this alone.\* “So I’m dead.” \*I said thrive. Not survive. But you’ll make it. Until you get rescued.\* “You had better be coming to find me.” \*If I’m around to, I’m sure I am.\* A pain gathered at the back of my eyes. The one in my hand evaporated. “We’re not going there, Ferdinand.” I told myself as I walked back to my mark. “We’re going to survive. We’re going to get off this island. And we’re going to find Alessia.” The next bird arrived around an hour later. It was smaller than the other two. Maybe younger, maybe less wise, I thought to myself. It walked skittishly up to the game, aware of the abnormality of a free meal, but unsure of how to assess the danger. The gull bent down and began plucking at the meal, quickly grabbing the flesh and trying to rip it with a jerk of its head. Whack! Just as the bird pulled its head, I swung, the branch hitting it square in the side of its skull. It bounced down the stony bank and I set off in a sprint, moving forwards as well as up. The bird was on its back and struggled to right itself - a couple of seconds of inertia - enough for me to close the gap and jump on it. I grabbed its body and neck, pinning it to the ground. A startled beak squawked in anger, confusion and fear. I grabbed a nearby rock and brought it down fast upon the bird’s head. There was a thud, followed by an injured and hurt call. I raised the stone again and brought it down a second time. Another thud, and a crack. This time there was no reply. \*Reminds you of Outer Fastanet.\* “The stone.” I replied to the air, dropping the weapon to the side. “It’s how they killed those pirates.” \*You didn’t learn it off them.\* I stood back and looked at the kill. “You think it’s instinct?” \*Maybe. Maybe not. Seems like a question you’d enjoy.\* I’d killed fish before. But this felt different. When you hit a fish with a hammer it looks at you with a sort of dumb confusion that it isn’t in water. The seagull fought. It fought for its life and I watched its pupils shrink with the realisation of its own end. I had to do it. I had to survive. But this was the first time. While my brain was still shaking at the act, my stomach grumbled with a different, more immediate message. With no tools to cut the bird, I plucked it as best as I could and then skewered the whole body with a long stick, and balanced it over the fire. I am sure an unseasoned gull - half-cooked and half-burnt over an open fire - was not a great meal. Yet, I had never been so thankful to eat. My stomach groaned with pleasure, my entire digestive system in elation, the frustration of dormancy suddenly unleashed into a hive of activity. For the first time since I arrived on this island I slept with my stomach full. I was going to make it. ------------------------------------ More days passed. My first kill had become the bait or my second, which became bait for my third. The water in the bushes had dried up, but fresh seagull blood was mostly water and it quenched my thirst enough. Between the gulls and the fire running steady, I was beginning to develop a routine. I was beginning to feel confident that I could survive on the island a little while longer. I reasoned too, that Alessia would likely have the boat repaired by now and be on her way to find me - she \*had\* to be on the way to find me. But if I wanted to make her or any other rescuer’s job easier, I’d need to let them know I was here. The best hope I had for that was the fire. A column of smoke during the day and light at night. However, I only had the one. I needed a second beacon, one on the other side of the island. I had been on the island for about two weeks, long enough to be uncertain of the exact number of days. It was the evening twilight, the point where you can see, but color and depth become a challenge. As I traipsed through the forest collecting logs for my second fire, I was straining to make out branches against the dark forest floor. My gaze was fixed downward as I scanned the uneven ground for suitable branches. Around me, the trees had been rustling all afternoon. A steady breeze had created a constant background shiver through the forest, a persistent auditory blur. I was in a sort of sensory deprivation. Had I been anywhere else, on an island with other people or any animals bigger than the gulls, I might have been wary of being so unaware of my surroundings. But the one plus to my isolation was that I could stare at the ground for as long as I wanted in perfect safety. I picked up one more branch and added it to the pile in my arms, the last stick almost sending the whole collection cascading to the ground. “That’s enough,” I announced to myself. As I looked up I noticed how the trees were shaking more ferociously. Branches waved, for my attention and the leaves sung ominously. “The fire should be fine, right?” I thought to the pile of logs I added before I left. Even a gale wouldn’t blow that out. I nodded to myself in reassurance. Still, the shaking forest tickled the hairs on my neck; a small itch that couldn’t ignore the howls from the trunks around me. \*You know what comes with wind.\* I looked up. The sky was black. Bulbous clouds hung low, groaning with their weight. I could see the light show of sparks flickering in the gloom, waiting to be unleashed. Static clung to the air, ready and primed. “Please, no.” The plea was quiet, too quiet to be heard by such giants. The weight above gave way. Rain poured down as a carpet, the world suddenly more water than air. Within a moment, everything was wet. The ground beneath my feet turned to mud, my clothes drenched through, and the kindling in my arms became waxy and moulted. The fire. I dropped the branches to the ground, and ran back through the forest. Each stride was like running into a wall of water. The cascade dripped into my eyes, blurring my vision as I rushed through the drumbeat of rain. Shaking branches tripped me and blocked me. I kept running, ignoring the slap of wet leaves until the mass of trees began to clear and I burst out into the open. Out of the forest, the rain was even heavier, and I could feel it pushing me down. The weight of a million droplets pounded against my skull until I could feel no other sense. My clothes were heavy, my feet slipped across smooth and moistened stones, and it was a struggle to keep moving under the bombardment from above. Trees rushed past until I turned the corner and saw the bonfire. The strong yellow flame had gone, replaced by gentle wafts of smoke and steam. I ran to it, trying to think of how I could protect the flame. No sheets. No shelter. Nothing but my waterlogged clothes and useless stones. Utterances of denial and vulgarities left my mouth. I looked to the base of the fire. I could see the red glow, a branch still bright with fire. Water hissed as it landed against it and turned to steam; the heat leached from the log. But there was still fire. I began ripping large leaves from the trees and bushes nearby, placing them in a pyre next to the fire, hoping the surface would provide protection. But the leaves were too few. Water and winds continued to pour through my paltry defence. I ripped off my shirt, and held it over the wood. Winds billowed in the fabric, sending water from the soaked shirt onto the wood. The fire let out a pained cry as more of the droplets transformed into vapour. The sky roared, the predator unleashing its fury. And like any good prey, I felt my heart thump in my chest as I cowered in fear, hoping not to be snuffed out. I looked around for something to keep the rains away. Panic and stupid ideas flooded my brain. Could I build a shelter from the stones? Could I drag the fire into the forest? Could I chuck my clothes - my soaking wet clothes - onto the fire as fuel? I bent down to check the base of the fire again, and my panic stopped. No more adrenaline. No more rush of energy. It was all worthless now. Water had gotten through. There were no glowing embers, no flickering flames, no hint of heat. The fire was extinguished. \ The Archipelago publishes every Wednesday. See the pinned comment for links to the contents.