(flashback) It was practically pitch black and the waves were crashing up the sides of the dinky little boat. Lightning struck on every side and the thunder was a never-ending roar. Why did my parents think that taking a barely one-year-old to an undiscovered island was a good idea? I was so young, but I still remember that day vividly in my nightmares.
I don’t remember crashing, but I do remember waking up in my mother’s arms and a wave of heat hitting my small fragile face. After that, I only remember small details in bits and pieces.
Staying in a shipwrecked boat until age 3, living in a small hut in the forest until age 7, moving in with the Iwis for three months. During my stay with the Iwi, my mother and brother had disappeared, which was part of the reason we left. My father and I found a cave in the mountain and have lived there ever since.
As soon as I could walk, my mother was teaching me how to be one with the creatures on the island instead of killing them. When I turned 5 my brother and father started teaching me how to fight and survive on my own. Both my parents would take turns teaching me basic things like reading, writing, math, and other things I would need to know.
My mother was very big on hygiene, so she always made sure we cleaned our teeth with charcoal and regularly cleaned up in the water. That was another reason we left the Iwi, even with her gone, we wanted to keep up on hygiene to make her proud.
By the time I was 4, I was a better zoologist than both my parents combined, I just clicked with all the creatures. When I was 6, I was prepared to live on my own, although my parents promised I would never have to. I’ve never like promises, they always turn out to be lies.