Deluge of Desolation | l. ackerman

Purpose

"To forget one's purpose is the commonest form of stupidity."

Friedrich Nietzsche

(chapter three)

The ocean was always something I dreamed of visiting. Even with it being just a few kilometers from home, the idea of splashing in the cold waves on a warm, summer afternoon was just that, an idea. But times change and normalites become distant notions as we mold our lives around never ceasing events.

So here I am, on a boat drifting off in the deep sea, awaiting my coming death in eerie silence as my hair tangles in the rough coastal winds of what I believe to be the Atlantic ocean. Salt water blankets my skin in a sheen layer. The waters are awfully rough, not what I imagined.

From the numerous novels I would read, the ocean was always described with serene, calm waves that rolled onto the white-sand beaches of wherever the characters were lucky enough to visit. The sun was always setting over the horizon as well; however, my case seems to be everything but those fairytales. The sun was high in the sky, pricking our skin with thousands of different needles, though that seemed to be the least of our worries as the ship continued to rock back and forth over the violent waves. A few people threw up from the abrupt motions.

When the waters finally started to rest, the captain released the horn of the ship. It was loud and unexpected. I flinched, along with Mom and Dad. Some gasped and some fell over from the sudden noise.

With one last brutal rock of the ship, we docked. We were led off one-by-one onto a solid platform, then stripped of our blindfolds. I shut my eyes as a blinding light entered my vision. The soldier who ripped the cloth off bent over my shoulder from behind me and whispered "Welcome to Paradise, Devil."

His breath was hot. He sounded excited, ready for the show that was about to commence. I slowly opened one eye, still trying to get used to the sudden change in light, and looked at him. He was overweight and had a thick mustache that didn't fully lap his lips. He was smirking.

I glared at him in pure anger. This bastard was getting off to our downfall. What an absolute creep. With a burst of confidence and blinded by utter rage, I gathered all of the saliva in my mouth and spit on his shoes. Looking up at him again to give him the ugliest glare I could muster, I see his face redden in anger and embarrassment.

"You bitch," He spat, roughly grabbing the collar of my shirt and dragging me up a flight of stairs.

"June!" My parents call out as I pass them. I pay them no mind, fear slowly beginning to smother my thoughts but I don't let it show, not in the presence of the big soldier. My glare worsens as my ankles hit the steep steps, not able to grab my footing with the way he's leading me like a dog. We spiral up a pillar, passing the other Eldians, including the blonde man I met before we boarded. He smiled again.

We make it to the top of a wide concrete wall. On one side was the dock and rough waves that crashed upon the jagged rocks; the other side was something out of a picture book. Hills upon hills of sandy dunes stretched as far as the eye could see. In the far distance, I could see the vibrant green grass that faded into the sand. This is Paradis?

I didn't get time to dwell on my question, what with the string grip the soldier mantained.

"I'm pushing this harlot off first." He tells a few other men on the wall. He then turns to me and says, "Better hope you're quick."