So this is how it ends || End of Day Five
Ever since the night he’d watched the mysterious figures from just outside of his cabin, Dylan had been cautious about the island they were staying on. As much as he had tried to distract himself, his mind would frequently wander to the images that had stained his mind from that night. Now, however, any shadow of doubt in his own gut instinct, had been disproved. Staring down at Octavia’s cold corpse, his own blood ran cold, and he could feel the blood draining from his face, leaving him with a pale vacant expression. He felt so helpless as he watched Theodore perform CPR, his own hands trembling. There wasn’t a flicker of rational thought that the man had drowned accidentally. Dylan knew that something was very wrong.Â
Time flooded past him, still staring vacantly when Theodore informed him that he was going to contact main office. It felt like less than seconds that he stood alone on the dock, his eyes distracted by the figures that seemed to get closer and closer by the second. When he finally broke away, he turned his attention towards Theodore. Yet, Theodore wasn’t alone now. A ghostly figure seemed to be wrapped around him, resembling a woman that couldn’t be Lola. It couldn’t be. In an attempt to register what he was seeing, he blinked furiously. In a panicked state, he felt as though he was waiting for a signal from his brain to do something, anything.
Dylan had no recollection of ever running this fast in his life. He powered all of the energy he had into getting as far away as possible, adrenaline coursing through every inch of his body. He couldn’t prevent himself from turning back every couple of seconds, the figures appearing closer with every glance, inspiring to keep moving. A knowledge of how far ahead, Dylan thought, would help keep him alive. He didn’t think for a second that it would be the thing that killed him.Â
The excess adrenaline that fired through his nerves almost numbed him to the piercing feeling that ripped through his chest. Almost. In somewhat of a haze, Dylan couldn’t quite understand why he wasn’t running anymore, why he had come to a sudden halt. Then it struck him. It was a burning sensation at first, spreading through from the branch’s point of entry to the rest of his chest. This sensation was quickly followed by a wave of tension throughout his body, as he exhaled to try and relieve it. Even as his hands gripped the wood that very clearly penetrated his skin, he couldn’t quite grasp the gravity of the situation he was in.
It’s okay. It’s just a stick. I just need to pull it out, and I can keep running. I can’t see them anymore. Maybe I’ve lost them. Maybe I can wait it out here, until morning, then get help. It’s just a stick. People survive this kind of thing all the time. This couldn’t kill me.
These words would become his mantra, until the blood began to stain his shirt, seeping through his clothes and dripping on to the floor. He slowly built up the courage to run his fingers along his shoulder blades, and down onto his back. That’s where he felt the fragmented branch protruding from his skin. He screamed. He screamed so loud that the night birds flew from their high branches, and he prayed he’d wake people from their cabins. The scream would very quickly sink into a broken sob, the gravity of his predicament crashing down on him.Â
When the blood pooling around his feet had started to grow, seeping into the ground below, and trickling like a stream, Dylan knew that he was going to bleed to death. He became too weak to pull at the branch, no longer trying to dislodge himself, as delusional as that was initially. His throat became dry, and the dripping of the blood into the puddle below was enough to drive him crazy. What had been slow, pathetic pants had gained rhythm and speed, becoming desperate gasps for air.Â
For Dylan, the pain wasn’t even the worst part, it was the ever present feeling of helplessness. Things that he had once been certain of, were now hazy in his mind. He was confused as to why his mother stood before him. She was supposed to be dead. But if she was dead, why had she come close enough to stroke the beads of sweat from his forehead like she would do during fevers when he was a child? Why was his brother on the island, reassuring him that it would all be okay? Dylan was too far gone to understand the delusional apparitions that were forcing their way into his mind, to distract him from the excruciating pain that now radiated through every fibre of his being. Â
The illusions faded to a brief period of intense dizziness, sending Dylan’s head falling backwards to face the stars.
That’s nice. He thought, admiring the stars up above as he drifted in and out of consciousness. They brought him a sense of calm, whilst under his breath his muttered the names of all the constellations to a person that just wasn’t there.
“And that one there is Aries. My star sign. I don’t believe in any of that rubbish, but it is a little ironic, that I stand here dying under the stars that claim my birth date.”Â
