I wandered into the mouth of the jungle with fake enthusiasm, the brittle ground crunching and cracking teasingly beneath my trembling feet. I breathed in hard, the stench of my own sweat filling my nostrils, and the cries and screeches of the wilderness echoing into the distance. I had to hone every one of my instincts to stay alive. I would need to hunt for meat. There had to be pigs or boars on this island, but where?
With decaying optimism, I swept the drooping vines from my path in the search for dry wood to start a fire. Feeling immensely intimidated by the unfamiliarity of the environment, I had decided to scour the island whilst brandishing my knife. Fifteen inches of cold steel was not enough to quench my fear, but it was better than my bare hands. In the corner of my eye, I managed to distinguish the remains of a fallen tree amongst the undergrowth; its writhing roots and moss-covered trunk seemed frozen in time, undisturbed by human presence.
Splinters sprayed in all directions as I tore away greedily at the dry bark. Feeling confident after having stumbled upon this discovery so soon, I carelessly thrust my arm into the gaping mouth at the end of the trunk to retrieve some of the wispy brown moss that seemed to have collected there, to use as tinder. Something warm brushed past my fingers as I withdrew my hand, and I accidentally swept it out with the rest of the debris. There was a subtle thud as it slapped into the bed of dry leaves scattered across the ground. At first glance, it appeared to be a tangled mass of thick black moss, until it unravelled itself like a flowering black bud, and wrestled its meaty body over to regain its poise. It was the largest spider I had ever seen – approximately the size of a dinner plate. Every single sense in my body surged out of control. Petrifying terror crept through my veins as boiling blood pumped faster and faster through my frozen body. Seconds passed, cold sweat seeping between the fibres of my vest, and my watering eyes stinging and burning as I attempted to supply saliva to my parched throat. Dirt and dust flew as my pounding feet tore up the tranquil collage of dead leaves, the forest mutating into a green blur as I bolted past, fuelled by an insane mixture of terror and adrenaline.
A lingering layer of mist made it difficult to determine where the jungle ended and the mountains began. There they stood, nature’s skyscrapers, towering high above everything, a majestic beauty beyond my reach. I had survived my first night on the island curled up in a ball on the beach, starving and thirsty. In an attempt to organise myself, I had unpacked my knapsack and planned the day ahead. A 15-inch bowie knife, a box of waterproof matches, some snare wire, a packet of water purification tablets and a wire saw – these were the only items which hadn’t been confiscated before I’d landed. My main priority now was to construct some sort of basic shelter, and to stockpile food for the long term. Coconuts had provided me with plenty of milk to drink, as well as empty shells to use as bowls and cups.
Sawdust filled my burning lungs as I slaved away over a thick tree truck with my wire saw, ensuring that the tree would fall in the opposite direction to create a temporary bridge over the ravine. I had discovered a patch of good, strong-looking saplings with which to construct a shelter, although they happened to be situated over a large ravine downstream of a gushing waterfall from the mountains. The morning had been spent cutting down some young green vines to bind together the wood for the shelter.
Startled birds took flight from lily-pad canopies hovering above the pond of mist, as an unearthly groan emanated from the decrepit trunk. Ancient dust arose as the reckless roots burst through the soil; the mighty trunk lurching severely, before finally crashing down with a thundering boom. As the debris dispersed, the rickety bridge became visible, its once vertical pride now a pitiable slouch.
I clambered across the ravine, digging my determined digits into the supple bark of the trunk to steady myself, hungry eyes fixed on my imminent destination. Sap seeped subtly from the serene saplings, unaware of their impending fate.
Time passed like an ever-flowing river as I obsessively sawed through each tree, and hauled it back towards the refuge of the beach. Darkness fell along with each straggly sapling, and before I could complete my last haul, I found myself lost in the intricate labyrinth of undergrowth.
Jesting vines contorted with cruel mirth in the impending darkness, and grotesque faces grinned menacingly from noxious trunks. Despite the intense humidity, the chilling atmosphere was intimidating; all around me, the eerie stillness of the jungle drowned my dwindling sense of security; a vivid sense of foreboding creeping through the very marrow of my bones. The jungle watched on mischievously, a twisted enemy toying with its prey, thriving from my vulnerability in its assiduous presence. Every step seemed like an eternity in the vain attempt to muffle the deafening cackle of the leaves underfoot, trying their utmost to give me away; my enemy, loyal to the forest. The fluid cape of darkness swirled around me, a devilish demon dancing ceremoniously to the ear-splitting drumbeat of my pounding heart.
Pins and needles radiated throughout my body as I frantically scrutinised my throbbing brain for the mental route to the shore I’d previously memorised. The escalating sense of claustrophobia beared down on me as darkness wrapped its suffocating cape of purest black around my exposed body.
My skin lacerated brusquely as the smooth blade slipped and skidded over my forearm. Tepid blood seeped out and dribbled down my chest, as I took another powerful swing and brought the blade down with stunning accuracy through the brittle skull of the boar. Blood erupted from the wound, running through my fingers as I grasped its head tightly to absorb the spasms as its life drained away. A sickening thud as its hacked carcass landed in an ocean of fresh blood that had spilled out over the jungle floor. Sinew and flesh was severed roughly as I wrought the knife free from the bloody head of the pig, jumbled fragments of skull scraping against merciless steel. The exhibit of mutilated remains was as horrific as usual, but this catch would no doubt be as tasty as the last one. Maybe I should roast it with some herbs from the jungle this time?
A sweltering liquid sun flogged the precarious frame of the completed shelter, an array of cooking utensils, mainly improvised from coconut shells, hanging down from a taut vine stretched across the frangible wooden frame. A lone wooden log lay outside the entrance, tattooed with dozens of deep notches – one for each day spent on the island. There were no less than seventy of these notches roughly carved into the peeling bark at present.
Salty water stung my eyes as I completed yet another length of the lagoon. That made twelve – two more than last time. Cool air rushed over my tanned muscular body as I dragged myself out of the clear blue water, brushing away reluctant grains of bone-white sand that clung to my soaking skin. I must have gained a stone in muscle since I’d arrived, and at least twenty odd scars from various injuries. I had reached a point at which my previous life seemed like nothing more than a distant memory. I felt as though I had been reincarnated – nature had moulded me into a perfect hunter, primal instincts re-ignited from the ashes, and civilised attitudes shattered, in favour of limitless brutality without consequences.
Something inside me tingled uncontrollably – a sixth sense. I spun around and noticed another tarantula clinging menacingly to one of the coconut trees. It had orangey- red rings around its knees – those ones had fairly mild poison, not much worse than a bee sting.
In a moment of savage brutality, I tensed the sweat-sheened muscle on my arm and slammed the knife into the bark, pinning the tarantula to the tree, and watching with twisted satisfaction as its dark blue blood oozed over my fingers. I hate bugs.
The crumpled black mess slid off my knife and plopped in the sand, still twitching delicately. I wiped the gooey blue liquid on the grassy bank behind the palm trees, and returned the knife to its sheath aggressively. Instinctively, I glanced up at the setting sun and realised that the boars would be travelling to the waterhole to drink soon. I scooped up some of the dark grey mud from the ground, and I applied it liberally to my face and chest. Boars are colour-blind, and have difficulty distinguishing between similar contrasts, and so hiding in the shadows coated in mud and brandishing a foot-long bowie knife brings constant results.
Hooves stamped wildly in the confusion of the stampede - a natural rush hour as the thirsty boars rushed down the dirt path to the waterhole in the hope of securing a spot. Little did the animals know that in a few moments, a large primate covered in mud and clutching a long piece of razor-sharp metal would pounce onto the nearest pig and sever one of its major arteries.
I pounced suddenly. Leathery skin encrusted with black hair rubbed vigourously against my forearm as I manoeuvred myself round to reach its fleshy throat. Unexpectedly, the pig made a strange attempt to roll over, and the knife slipped from my sweaty grip, leaving me almost defenceless. Without a second thought, I lunged forward, wrapped my arm around its struggling head, and thrust all my body weight sideways, snapping its neck like a chicken. It hit the ground with a clumsy thud, and lay still and silent as its oblivious comrades charged into the dusty distance.
Untamed flames licked the sides of the frigid stones as the greasy skin of the boar crackled and blistered above, rotating smoothly on the rickety spit. Unconsciously, I gashed another wound into the pulpous flesh of the ‘calendar’ log – which made seventy-one notches, a cruel reminder of time yet to pass. I stared out, mesmerised, across the serene expanse of inky water, a buoyant moon painting a milky strip down from the distant horizon. When would it all be over?
Straggly strands of sweaty soot-coloured hair hung down pitifully over my weather-beaten face, only just stroking the tops of my broad muscular shoulders. Sodden wood shavings amassed around the blunt edge of my knife, as I triumphantly carved the three hundredth and sixty-fifth notch into the scarred remains of the diminished bark of the log. Only a matter of hours left, before they would take me back – back to that absurd civilised existence, where rules, restrictions, and good manners are compulsory.
I turned my head to gaze upon the awe-inspiring beauty of the island, a perfect contrast to world of pollution and congestion I’d left behind from my previous life. Here I was, in harmony with nature, atavistic instincts revived, just as it should be. Humans are animals – pure and simple. It had taken a year on this island for me to realise that there is little to separate us from our animal cousins. All humans are driven by the same remnants of ancient instincts – the ability to hunt and dissect animals without cringing at the thought of it. Frustration raced through my veins at the ignorance of humanity, shutting out the truth of their animal origins with their civilised silliness. In possession of this new knowledge, how could I possibly return to such a way of living? I would have come so far for nothing. What is a million pounds compared to what I have here – complete and boundless freedom? No money in the world could buy me that.
Sinewy forearms strained as I scrambled up the unmerciful face of the cliff, only four aching limbs between me and certain death. Rugged stone grazed my abdomen as I hoisted my hefty body onto the refuge of the ledge, high above the steamy jungle below. I jerked my vigilant head to the side with distress as something inside me tingled uncontrollably. An alien noise diffused through the air, and a roaring beast tore through the distorted mirage of the heat wave curtain – the magical barrier separating me from the civilised world breached. Raging hordes of sand spiralled tauntingly as the helicopter blades sliced the clammy air with forceful fury, and lazy ripples cascaded joyfully across the perfect expanse of undisturbed, golden beach. A sharp thud occurred as the helicopter touched down; chaotic clouds of creamy sand corkscrewing crazily as several uniformed men leapt out. The roar of the beast retired and began to dissolve into the dank atmosphere, the tune of tranquillity prevailing.
It was only a matter of time before they realised that I was never going to arrive at the designated pick-up point, and send out a search party to scour the island. I mustn’t let them find me, or they’d take me back to their human world.
Driven by desperation, I stealthily clambered down into the dank depths of the jungle, my only asylum. Not a single twig snapped as I scampered through the familiar undergrowth, searching for a place to hide. By the time it had happened it was too late – one of the men from the helicopter swept a multitude of languid vines from his path, his expression even more startled than mine as our eyes made contact. Animal instinct surged through my atavistic brain. I launched the knife through the dense air with lethal force, and witnessed it slam into his chest, knocking him off his feet. Remorse was absent from my barbaric mind as I watched the blood erupt from the fatal wound. I withdraw my knife crudely from the body and scooped up some of the dark grey mud from the ground, applying it liberally to my face and chest. Merciless steel versus frayed leather as I drove the foot-long blade back into its tattered sheath and melted into the shadows of the undergrowth – the jungle concealing its ally with a shroud of black.
(Received an A* Grade)
