Hermitcraft Season 7 Oneshots

Washed up- 1

Word count: 1369 words.
Trigger warnings: none.

Enjoy!
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The sun's scorching rays burned the man's cheeks, his face feeling as though it was aflame. Ocean waves crashed against the pale sand, the smell of the sea filling the air. It was an unfamiliar smell to the man as if he hadn't been by the seaside before. The man hadn't moved since he awoke, laying on the loose and powdery shore. He slowly began to feel his limbs, carefully moving his fingers through the fine sand, admiring the warmth that the sun had gifted onto the seaside. Eventually, feeling began to return to the man's arms and legs, allowing the forgetful male to helplessly flail on the shore, struggling to get to his feet while he plead that someone would find him.

Is anyone there? He asked in his mind, the man unable to remember how to speak. He could only think, barely able to move while laying on the shore. The man had trouble remembering how he arrived on this distant land, his head foggy and seemingly empty. The more he tried to think, the more his head seemed to fight him, refusing to cooperate, leaving the clueless man stuck, practically trapped at the seaside. The man dug his nails into the sand, the only thing he could cling to was the powdery shore, which slipped through the palms of his hands, similar to his memories, which seemed to disappear without a trace.

"H-..." The man whimpered, his lips quivering as he spoke. He had managed to choke out the beginning of a word, so why couldn't he say anything more than a stutter? The man dug his nails into his palms, his body violently shaking as he managed to sit up in the sand, opening his eyes and gasping for breath as he situated himself in the sand. The roaring waves gently crashed against the seaside, the man slowing his breaths as he studied the crystal waters, at peace whilst watching the waves slowly move. His reflection was clear in the water, the man studying himself with great intent, hoping to remember something about himself.

His hair was raven black, messy and ruffled, his mustache dirtied as well. He had a bit of stubble growing beside his mustache, the man questioning how long he'd been asleep for. What seemed to be a business suit was ripped and torn, leaving the remains of a black suit coat, a partially-destroyed red tie, and a ruffled white shirt, all of his clothes sopping wet. His dress shoes and pants weren't destroyed, but they were stained and slightly worn out. Still, he didn't have any clue who he was, his appearance barely jogging his memory.

Still, one thing caught his eye, the man studying the nametag in his reflection, which was wrapped tight around his neck. He looked down, studying the fine paper and smudged ink, which seemed to be tarnished from water damage, only one letter of his name remaining, M.

So that was it? His name was M? The 'M' was the only part he could make out, the rest of the writing smudged, unable to be read. M didn't feel any different, he didn't remember anything new at the sight of his name if that even was his name. M slowly untied the name tag from around his neck, running his thumb over the smudged letters, unable to read the sloppy ink, meaning he wouldn't know who he was.

"Hello?" M choked out, his voice hoarse and tired. He choked a bit as he attempted to speak once more, his lips were dry, cracked from the burning heat. He looked back at the lush jungle on the deserted island, M raising an eyebrow at all of the strange noises coming from the tropical forest. M frowned, pulling his knees to his chest as he looked back at his reflection. He felt empty, nothing remaining in his mind.

So why was he here? How did M wash up on shore, and did he have a life before the loss of his memories? The tall male was scared of whatever had happened, M letting go of his knees and falling back onto the sand, carelessly running his arms through the miniature pale materials. Truthfully he had no idea what he was doing, M just wanted for someone to find him and tell him everything was going to be okay. The raven-haired male shut his eyes, his body relaxing on the shoreline, as he listened to the crashing of the waves, M falling asleep, despite the anxiety and worry that had clouded his mind.

•=•=•

"Yeah, I found him washed up on the shore. He was asleep so I'm not sure how long he's been here." A voice called out, M barely able to hear their quiet whispers. He groaned a bit, the male's body aching as he moved a bit, the voices that had been speaking going silent. M didn't care, nor did he want to move, everything was in burning pain.

"Hm. He's just like the others. Do you think he'll remember?" A new voice questioned, footsteps pacing back and forth, the rhythm of the steps allowing for M to count as they walked back and forth. He had no clue why he was counting, and yet it was almost like an automatic response, a nervous habit. Maybe a few things remained from M's past.

"Wake him up." A powerful voice commanded, the footsteps approaching M, his body suddenly being violently shaken, the raven-haired male opening his eyes and sitting upright, the two that were shaking him quickly backing away.

One was small, his red sweater looked soft and welcoming, despite his rugged appearance. His sandy blonde hair was fluffy and golden, his piercing blue eyes cold and harsh, the small male had an unblinking and steady glare. His sleeves were rolled up, scars all along his arms, and a few minor marks on his face.

The other was taller, their appearance much more threatening to M. They had chestnut hair, a fluffy beard as well. One of their eyes was covered, something technological and unfamiliar to the taller male. It seemed broken, cracked in a way, which matched their appearance nicely. They wore a mangled lime hoodie, baggy torn jeans as well.

The two held wooden spears, both pointed at M's neck, the tall male horrified at the sight of these unfamiliar people. They had body paint on their faces, green and brown colors to help camouflage them with the jungle.

A man approached M, raising his hand and causing the two guards to move their weapons away from the terrified male. The man was much older than the other two, wearing a crown of sticks and vines in his gray hair. He had a long robe, which seemed to be made of moss or some sort of soft material from nature.

"What shall we do with him, chief?" The one in lime questioned, their voice much different than M's, a strange accent that the raven-haired male hadn't heard before. The chief stepped forward, grabbing M by his chin and examining the tall male's facial features, his eyes moving down to M's neck.

"He doesn't have one. Throw him back where you found him." The man said in a gruff voice, the leader turning away to leave. The two guards grabbed M by his arms, the tall male too scared to say anything. He was getting dragged away by the two guards, The elder chief looking back before M was taken away, his eyes going wide as something slipped out of his pocket, falling onto the ground.

"Wait," The chief said, bending down and lifting the name tag off the ground, the two guards sharing a look as they let go of M, backing away as the leader approached. The raven-haired male was terrified of the elder, the leader of the two guards studying M one last time before he examined the name tag once more. The elder tied the name tag around M's neck once more, taking a step back and fully examining M one last time.

"He's one of us."