I’ve been running for hours, or for days, I can’t be sure. My frail diseased legs cannot fail me now, but I sense the weakness closing in. My world is closing in, the trees spin, I know I’ll soon collapse. They’ll find me, I swear they’ll find me, but I swear it’s not my fault. It’s not my fault.
This is a nightmare. My eyes deceive me. This is either a figment of my imagination, or some demented illustration that my mind has constructed in my deep sleep. I will wake up and be home, surrounded by light shining in from the brilliant morning sun, and I’ll turn over and smell the sweet fragrance of my love, Abigail. She’ll be awake and her enchanting smile will make me melt into the glistening sun that shines upon her face. Together, we will take in the morning’s grace. My canvas will await me patiently by the window. My latest sketch will be displayed and I’ll show it to Abigail. She’ll smile, but leave me to my time, and I’ll start to sketch.
Later that day, Abigail will hurry off to work. Past the food vendor, past the tavern, and past the newspaperman in the top hat, she will beckon the eyes of every man in the drunken old tavern and the envious stares of every woman on the cobblestone street. I’ll look beyond my dear canvas, to watch her go and I’ll feel so warm inside.
But slowly I now realize that I’ve been long awake. This is not a dream and I’m no longer in a familiar place. My eyes, which I swear betray me, dance from side to side. I see water. I see endless oceans everywhere I look, colliding into the falling sky. Behind me, there are men. These men are sick and diseased. They’re rotting away and spitting blood onto the golden sand. Monsters. I feel sick. Where am I? Where’s Abigail? Who are these men? I’m so sick. I feel myself coughing in fits, I have no control. Blood runs freely from my mouth and onto my bare feet. Overcome with hysteria, my eyesight disappears and I crumble.
I awake for a second time, instantly alert. I’m in a tent. There is no Abigail; there is no warm sun, no delightful fragrance, but I’m reminded I must stay calm. I rise from where I lay and find a note on my chest. I’m aware that the note will reveal everything that does not make sense. It will reveal my worst nightmares, but even so, I feel my trembling fingers unraveling the note that will crush my already unraveled life.
I struggle to contain my nerves, my fingers twitch, sweat cascades down my face; I am not ready for this,
“Dear subject 106,
You are unfortunately infected. You are infected with a disease that is extremely contagious and we are unable to cure it at this time. You have been exiled on a remote island with the other subjects until we can find a way to bring you home.”
The blood. The blood I’d coughed up before I’d passed out, the blood I’d seen running down those men, it’s Blood flood, it must be. I’d seen Abigail’s papers that talked about this Blood flood sickness. She’s been so busy, working overtime, trying to find a cure. Day in and day out, I’ve seen her eyes grow bloodshot; reflecting sleepless nights. She still never looked so beautiful. I miss her.
Suddenly aware that I’m a sick man, in the presence of sick men, I am overcome with the impossible truth that stares me in the eyes. But I am no longer terrified to the point of fainting. I climb to my unstable feet and set out to explore my new home.
I wander into daunting lands ahead not knowing what to expect. I soon spot a group of tents near the shore of a falsely breathtaking sea. As I approach, I’m tentative and nervous, but I march on towards the beach of disease. Some men stir and look my way; I freeze tempted to turn back. They all stare, some men who had been walking nearby stop to stare. I can do nothing but continue to where I was headed. The men greet me and I notice the weakness and bony figures. One man, a bearded man named Phillip, tells me that he’s expecting to die very soon. As I look at him, I can almost see him wasting away, parts of him slipping away with the wind and into the ocean.
Another man alerts me of some men on the island, “See those men over there”, said this dying man, “They’re what we call Wanderers. They’ve lost a bit of their minds being marooned on this Island. We stay away from them. You seem like you’re okay, why don’t you move your tent over here?” I accept his advice and I feel warmth knowing that these men are friendly at least.
“My eyes open to another day of hell in this soulless land. We are all waiting to die, rotting slowly. I wish I’d never wake up. Waking up without Abigail is torturous. I can’t bare this place any longer. Morning returns far too often. Sleep is my only friend in the land of the infected, the land of wanderers, the land where we all waste away.”
Waking up kills me more and more. I’ve been here 18 days, and each one has taken its toll on my dying body. Mentally, I feel stable still, but my heart longs for Abigail’s pale blue eyes. I set out again to stroll along the same old shore and I make small talk with newcomers who haven’t given up yet. We talk of what it’s like back home and I miss my sketches so I move on, drowning in hopeless thoughts.
I spot a ship coming in from the west, new victims of the blood flood. I sit down by the sea and dip my feet into the water waiting for the newcomers. When it arrives to the island, I sense something is different. It came in from a new direction and it’s a ship I’ve never seen before. I stand up and a figure moves from the upper deck.
Down the stairs and onto down a ramp into the shallow water walks Abigail, my love. Once again, I swear that my eyes betray me. Such a beautiful sight lies before my teary eyes and I crumble. She approaches me. I’m weak, crying, like a child, on the sand. Her graceful hands touch my infected face and I know that my eyes have not failed me. My tongue is now my weakness, as I cannot find words. Instead, she kneels down and I rest my head upon her.
“I have the Cure. It’s going to be alright”, she whispers.
I manage only but a cough of blood that I’m forced to swallow.
She tells me I’m going to be fine and asks where the other men are, “They’re over there” I say pointing. “I have enough medicine for each one of you. I’ll give you each the cure and we’ll be able to return to the mainland.” She says with a smile.
I suddenly fell that I need the cure right away. I tell her to inject me.
“Well what about the others? Shouldn’t we tell them the good news first”
“No. I fear for myself. Please understand, I need the cure now. Besides, some of those men are dangerous. I don’t want them to see you and go crazy, there are no women here and some of them would probably kill you.”
“Then we can go together! They don’t seem very harmful from here. Come on, lets go break the news…Oh look! They’re coming towards us!”
Something powerful takes me by storm and I feel myself strike her. She crumbles in a heap at my feet, and my world is turned upside down. I didn’t mean to, I swear. I peer to the wanderers who close in on me, and I pick up Abigail’s unconscious body. I run with her in my arms as fast as my legs will carry me. Over my shoulder, the men are speeding up as well. I enter the jungle and hope to find a place to hide. Everywhere is a mess of green and vines, but I frantically press on.
I find a small cave where I lay Abigail down. I tell her I love her, but it’s no use. She still doesn’t stir. What has come over me? Am I a wanderer? I’m so selfish. Will the wanderers kill me? I know some have guns. I’m so sorry Abigail. I’m so sorry.
The wanderers block the entrance to the cave. They’ve found me. I’m dead. One reveals a gun and I beg him to let me live. Abigail restored all hope of life in me just minutes before, and I’ve put hers in danger and I’m begging for mine. Yesterday, I would have begged to die.
I lung at his gun and tackle him to the ground. The others jump on me and a shot goes off. The gun is in my hands. Another goes off and the man on me I lifeless. The other wanderer struggles with me, but I’m on my feet now. I shoot but I miss and the bullet heads toward the ground. It heads toward where Abigail lay.
She lies even more lifeless than before. I fall to my knees. My love is dead. The cure is gone. I’m dying. I’m sick. This isn’t happening. I feel cold steel against my head. I feel my finger on the trigger. I feel nothing. Once again, I crumble.
