The Island: Act One

ACT ONE - 2: Marooned

Dark grey clouds stare down upon the body of a man. Soiled to the centre of a beach, like a stone. Face down, he sleeps against the drying sand. The wind is calm yet cold. It brushes through the air, curling the grass at the edge of the shore, throwing grains of sand onto the grass. Clumps of sand roll over Stephen's body. The sun is hidden from the world, behind the storm clouds. They have done their work, rewarding Stephen's survival with a moment of peace. Allowing him to sleep in moderate comfort.

Stirring, his head and hands twitch. An eyelid opens several times, each time opening a little wider. The landscape comes into focus and he sees the grey shoreline. It is dull and storm scarred. Debris litters the beach with shards big and small from Stephen's yacht. Rising awkwardly to his knees, he scans the beach. It is long and thin, only 20 metres until a thick jungle replaces the open sand. The whole island is jungle. The high mountains in the distance are covered over with trees and grass. On a sunny day, one might have considered it beautiful. But on a dark, dreary day. Where one is frozen, lost and marooned...marooned...

The realisation sets into Stephen. His brain has finally caught up. I'm trapped. Trapped on an empty island with nothing and no-one... Turning with another face of shock. Rising to his feet and his hands holding his head in shock. He turns back to the ocean. Scanning it frantically. Turning back to the jungle and taking a quick step towards it before shouting:

'LAUREN!' Clasping his hands around his mouth for volume, he shouts again 'LAUREN!' Turning back to the ocean; 'LAUREN!' There is no answer. His hands clasp his head once more, as though he is holding it together in case it explodes. What have I done? How could I have forgotten Lauren? Where is she? Is she alive? Please, God let her be alive! Looking out to sea, he sees it settled and calm. Heat radiates a divide between the ocean and the air. The storm clouds begin to separate as the Sun breaks through the gloomy sky and stares across the horizon at the island.

God it's hot.

I turn away from the deathly horizon, and stumble towards the treeline at the edge of the shore. My legs struggle with the effort. Looking down I see my shin covered in a sleeve of red. Registering the injury for the first time I sit on the sand, pulling my left leg up to my chest. A slash mark has ripped my jeans. All I can see inside is blood. Blood too stains the drying jeans, from shin to ankle. I roll the jean up, it reaches halfway up my shin before it becomes tight and closes around the wound. I scream.

The wind carries Stephen's scream, as his back falls onto the sand and he clasps his shin in pain. Resting there for about ten seconds, breathing deeply before slowly rising back up. He slowly unrolls the jean.

"That's a problem for later." He mutters to himself, and awkwardly rises to his feet. Staggering now into the jungle.

The thick bushes and leaves bristle past him, slapping him on the back as Stephen slumps through the vast jungle. All signs of the night's storm have passed and only the memory remains. The sun shines through the trees creating god rays that spotlight the jungle floor; the grass is long and uneven. Stephen's feet and shins are lost among the grass, his left hand holds his left knee, while his right lifts low hanging branches and over-extending bushes out of his path. Wiping the sweat slowly moisturising his forehead. As he delves deeper into the forest, the heat only grows with the pain in his shin.

I am sweltering. Burning. Drying, no melting in this deathly heat. My eyes dry up and my lips are beginning to crack. My mouth hangs open as though trying to capture water vapour from the air. Sweat burns and melts my skin all over, as it sucks my clothes to my skin and makes me hotter. My head goes light, the jungle dances around me. The grass wraps around my knees, pulling me down. My arms thrash out to grab something – anything. My left arm flaps wildly behind me, as my right hits a thin tree stalk. My hand returns for a second attempt and clasps shut around the bark. My body jerks as it is suddenly stopped in its path by my grasp on the tree. I stagger back up to a straight position, the jungle kaleidoscopes around me.