this one's called "Pain" and ive NO idea why the plot appeared in my mind...it's kinda sick.... 😘 but it flowed nevertheless and forced itself to be written. ........
It had been days since his rations had run out. He lay there, under the oppressive heat of the sun, too weak to move. His ankle pulsated with undying pain, pushing all other thoughts out of his mind.
He could barely remember his name. His life as a lawyer, with a loving wife and an adorable daughter, was a mere memory, quickly fading away. All he knew was the insufferable pain, the agony in his ankle, his stomach, his head, all over him.
There were no animals on the island. None that he had seen, anyway. He had survived, so far, on food from the wreckage. The storm had tossed him and his boat mercilessly onto the rocks surrounding the island, shattering both the boat and his ankle. For a whole day he had lain there, unable to move. His ankle had swollen to twice its size. Finally, pangs of hunger had driven him into rummaging the wreckage for food. Each time he had put some weight on his pulverised ankle, it had roared out in anguish. Still, he had needed the food. He had grit his teeth and bore it as much as he could. Even bandaging the ankle with his shirt had not helped him much.
The rations were not enough though. They had lasted just for a short while. Fortunately, the stream he had found had quenched his thirst and kept him from dehydrating.
He heard a screech on his left side and painfully turned his head in its direction. At first, he thought he was hallucinating. Then, as the bird screeched again and cocked its head curiously in his direction, he knew, it was real. Saliva dribbled down his chin as he half-crawled, half-dragged himself towards his next meal. The bird, taking notice of this, flew back a few feet. “NO!” his mind shrieked. He could not afford to let his food get away! Ignoring his body’s outraged protests, he stood up and began to run unsteadily after it. The bird took to his wings and led him in a wild goose chase, staying just out of his reach, taunting him, taking a fiendish delight in making his body suffer. He gave up after a while, and crumpled onto the ground, defeated. He went through a sudden spasm of searing stomach cramps, and wished for death, which, of course, would not come. Just then, out of the corner of his eyes, he saw hope.
It came in the form of a cave. A small, rocky cave, in the middle of nowhere. Shelter! Painstakingly, he used his hands to drag his body into the cave.
His mind slowly registered the contents of the cave. There was a rank, putrid smell hanging in the musty air. With slow astonishment, his mind registered rusty tin cans strewn around the rocky ground. Right at the end of the cave, propped up against the wall, he saw, with utmost horror, a skeleton, clothed in rags which had not completely disintegrated yet. Flies were circling it, and the ground around it was stained with something, which looked horribly like blood. A Swiss Army knife lay on its bony palm, its blade encrusted with blood. There was something carved on the wall next to the skeleton. The man slowly got up to read it, wincing at the sudden jab of pain which coursed through his body. His eyes opened wide with terror as he read that one word – “Kamikaze”.
He slumped onto the ground, feeling helpless. He was going to end up like that too, he realised. Dead. He needed food, he’d moved to far from the stream and he could not bear the excruciating pain in his ankle anymore. His head throbbed from the heat and his stomach was on fire. He needed food, or he would definitely face death.
The man noticed a cut on his palm, with blood oozing out of the wound. Out of habit, he started sucking on it. The blood had a warm, coppery taste he had never noticed before. Pretty soon, he was not sucking the wound just to stop the flow of blood. He was actually enjoying the taste……
Something clicked in his mind. He slowly looked at the penknife in the skeleton’s hand. His mind and body were at war.
“Do it,” his mind said, “you have to live somehow. There’s no other way.! You need food! If you ever get rescued, they can fix you up – the medical world is full of miracles!”
“No!!” his body cried, “please, I can’t take it anymore! The pain, oh please, the agony!”
His mind won in the end - it always did. He painfully reached out for the knife. Slowly, he slid it into his left thigh. The world exploded in red-hot pain as warm blood spurted over his hand and onto the floor. “Kamikaze”, he whispered hoarsely. Bracing himself, he sliced off another piece from his thigh. The pain intensified, reaching such a delirious pitch that he retched. Then, he looked at the piece in his bloodstained hands.
“Do it,” his mind said, “look, it’s just a piece of chicken, it’s just a piece of succulent chicken, don’t think about it, just do it.”
A wave of nausea splashed over him, but he willed it down. It’s just chicken, just chicken, he thought. As he slowly closed his eyes and brought the piece up to his mouth.