Author Games: Tempest

Task Five: Entries

Sam Michelson

 All Sam could hear was the irregular breaths of a man finished...Slipping between worlds was a rare talent. In order to do so, one had to be both on the verge of death and hysteria--a combination that, easy as it sounded, was harder than the ground Sam lay upon. His back arched uncontrollably as the fire rippled across his body. He'd been in hell for seven days. The fire had started off slow at first, a gentle roar that left burns across him, and then it entered his mind.

It was there, Sam found, that he first transferred from one world to the next.

"I love you," Danny whispered. He'd kiss Sam's cheeks and hold his hands. Their rings glinted in the sunlight. They were together, living on that deserted island, with a herd of small chickens and a farm. Danny had lived on a farm as a boy. That's what Sam knew--that's what Danny whispered about in his sleep.

Sam didn't dare whisper it back. He knew what happened when he spoke of love--but it was for naught, for the second it crossed his mind, he was violently jerked back to hell.

A fire that broke for one second--just one small, simple second.

Enough for him to see what was in front of him.

The ocean stretched out, long and free. The edges of the treeline, and plants that swallowed Sam's left side whole. The stick laying atop a fresh grave. The man, fishing with a pole he'd sharpened on rocks the day before.

The sun was dying. Beside him looked like nothing. He'd caught no fish. They were starving and he couldn't catch anything. Instead, he was walking into the water. Wading in deep. Lost beneath the waves. Lost in time and space. Lost.

Sam's eyes slipped close again.

"You're quiet today," Danny said. Playfulness spread throughout his voice like a curse. He was bemused.

"I know," Sam said, wrapping his arms around his lover's neck. The embrace was warm. It was all he needed.

They swam together in their love, drowning in one another's arms. There the world didn't exist. There time was empty. There, nothing was real aside from the thick, repetitive beating of their hearts intertwined.

"I found something out there--a raft. I think we can use it to get home, Sam."

"Why would we need to leave? We have everything," he said, beckoning to their world around him.

It was empty. Dull. Waves crashing on a rocky shore. Danny was not next to him. Danny was once more in the water. He was stabbing at the water. It was red. Bright, ugly, horrifying red--and then swept away into a mirage of green foam.

They were making baskets. Nice, warm baskets made from leaves they strung together. They looked sturdy. Able to hold water. Weaved as though they were experts who'd grown up on the island together.

"Look, Danny! Mine is holding water!"

Danny laughed. Thick. Loud. Rippling.

Sam looked down, only to find the basket to be leaking. Bright, red, bloody water dripping down Sam's thighs. Danny ran his fingers over the water, brushing it off Sam, only to bring it to his lips to taste. The grin that split his lips told all. It was delicious.

"I'll give you more--anything," Sam pleaded.

"You couldn't," Danny said. A sigh. A gentle, soft, disappointed head shake. Then, he stood up. "I'll tend to the chickens. You get the fire ready for dinner."

The jungle was lonely without him.

You deserve this.

Do you still think you two are meant to be together?