Tall leafy trees tower over the area, my mind tries to provide the illusion of swimming in an exotic resort but it just didn’t feel right. You cannot get a tan no matter how hard you try and there are no indoor areas to avoid the rain. I’m so bored all of the time.

Aside from the trees above, the only bit of shelter in this area was an old grayish-charcoal colored shed. By the fourth day, my wounds were healing up nicely and I felt a little stronger. Today, I would take a look around and my attention turned towards that same termite-invested shed. I had to check it out. As I approached it all of my senses heightened as if I was approaching something dangerous.

You know that feeling you get when something just feels off. To make it worse your common sense starts screaming at you, telling you that there is nothing to be fearful of. Then the fears and the mind engage in a civil war until the body commits to a response.

I was running on instinct at this point and for every stride I took my brain kept telling me to “Turn back!” This certainly was an eerie feeling but with it came a wave of excitement to quench the empty feeling of boredom.  

I eventually grabbed the handle of the shed’s blackened door. It was rusted pretty badly and swayed off the door by its bottom hinge. Upon contact, I felt a sensation similar to touching the tip of a rusty nail.  

I opened the door carefully, making sure to be behind the battered door as it creaked open. Nothing lashed out and I felt confident enough to take my first peek inside. To my surprise, there was nothing except a small work bench along the right side. A single nail was partially driven into the wall above the makeshift work station.  

The floorboards were rotting away, the possibly of them giving out increasing with every second I stood in there. As I continued to look around, a single item appeared near the leg of the bench. A hacksaw or at least what was left of it. Now nothing more than a twisted rusted metal piece with dulled teeth that could barely cut through butter. Regardless of the tool it once was, here it is reduced to mere scrap metal. I decided to hang it back on the wall before leaving. It was the right thing to do.

Before continuing my exploration, I turned to take one last glimpse of the shed. I noticed something irregular about the back. A message was carved into the wood by another human being.

My astonishment of being here with another person was immediately dulled by the dark and cruel meaning behind the message.

It made me realize that I was never getting off this island. 

Skill Flea (talk) 02:14, October 23, 2015 (UTC)Skill Flea

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