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Enquirer Home Page | Twitter | Back to Improbable Island
|| Thursday, February 05 2015 @ 08:41 AM UTC (Read 1438 times)
Kia Ora and gidday. I'm Reo.
I just hit the Island, and it's hit me back, hard, repeatedly. I'd like to share a bit of writing from Reo's point of view, still raw and fresh.
I don't know the forum rules on swearing, so I will do my best to blank it out. If it's not ok and I miss a couple, please let me know.
I have arrived on the shores of my new home for the third time.
The first time, I was tossed, groggy and naked, from a jet that made a touch-and-go landing in a grassy airfield of sorts to deposit me and some other poor damned soul. She landed in a tree. She seemed ok, or about as ok as you can be when you land naked in a tree.
I was met by the most terrifyingly business like woman I have ever seen-The Watcher. I hate this woman, or whatever she is, second most out of all the new people there are to hate. She told me what this place was, why I had been brought here, what I was to do. She shooed me towards the outpost with a horrible toothy smile.
The person I hate the most is whoever decided to turn this h*llhole into a reality show and to cast us as unwilling players.
I stumble up the shore, back to New Home. Tent town, hole in the ground, home to- dozens? Hundreds? of my fellow naked and confused. Not the only outpost, but the only one I've seen so far. I'm not strong enough or well-equipped enough to make the trip north-west to what I'm told is the nearest of our neighbours. If I did, I'd no doubt meet my death in one of the two ways I expect I will perish here- being eaten by something large and very wrong-shaped.
The other way is in trying, and failing, to reach the one goal we all are aiming for.
To destroy the Improbability Drive.
I have tried my luck in the jungle a few times, now. Fighting whatever bizarre creature lurches across my path, with my bare hands. I have no weapons, as yet. At least I am not naked anymore, tho the ridiculous fuzzy PJ's I bought to cover myself do little more than provide me with some modesty. I look down at them- they are filthy and tattered. If I had my tailor's tools I would repair them- If I had my supplies I'd make better clothes for me. For any poor naked b*stard who can't stand the thought of fighting swarms of rats or Meatlings wearing nothing but frilly pink knickers.
It would help if Uncle Reihana was here. The bushman, the ex-freezing worker, the hunter. He could butcher and skin animals, tan hides, make useable leather goods. I'm sure there must be people here who can do that, but I've not met any yet, nor seen any examples of their work. Surely there are folks who had time to learn a useful skill like leather-working in the years after the EMP blast.
Admittedly, after retail was no longer an option in the mess that followed, I simply turned to what I had done since I could hold needle and thread- I sewed, by hand. My talents and skills made me indispensable to my community.
But not here.
Here, I feel f***ing useless.
I don't fight. Well, I suppose I do now, but I'm not a fighter. I'm stumpy, my reach is short, my eyes are bad.
Admittedly, I'm already getting stronger. The next time I have to row myself ashore from the Failboat I will have muscles of steel, I'm sure. That was the second time I set foot on the Island, rowing back in that beaten up little aluminum dinghy, away from that cursed woman and her banks of screens.
I can't even bl**dy remember what kind of beastie knocked me out, the first time. It wasn't that insufferable woman who wrote romance novels, nor the bloke who used to do Tech Support and went mad. It sure as h*ll wasn't that freaky juggler on the unicycle!
All I know is, I went down, and woke up on the Failboat. And let me tell you- if you think the Island is humiliating, well the Failboat is a whole 'nother level.
While that inhuman **** watches, you go thru a series of cage matches against various monsters from the island, until you can convince her you are worthy of returning to battle further, for great ratings. S***. Then you get lowered over the side in a f***ing bucket an paddle back in to shore.
I do remember what knocked me out the second time, tho, and it was embarrassing as h*ll.
I really thought I was starting to get a handle on things. I was hungry, sure, I was tired, yeah, but I was getting somewhere.
Then I stood on a f***ing rake. F***.
Somebody found me, happily didn't steal my meagre supplies, and in the morning, simply dumped me back on shore.
After little more than a week here, I have become conditioned, in a way. Fine, I'll play your stupid game for the bl**dy telly. I'll fight, and win, and get the requisition tokens for my kill. Then I'll get myself patched up by a glorified f***ing panelbeater, and head back out an do it again. When I'm tired, I'll sleep at the railway station on a wooden bench. When I'm hungry, I'll stuff down a bacon sarnie and a salad at the greasy spoon. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Then something happened, not long before The Rake Incident. I suppose it lead to it, in a way.
I killed a kitten with my bare hands.
It wasn't until two days later, while picking the slugs out of my salad at Joe's Diner, that the horrible realization hit me.
I didn't have to do that.
I could have run away from the stupid lil s*** after it accidentally scratched me, and looked for something to battle proper, like a zombie.
But I killed it, and I took the filthy Req that the nearest camera spat out.
I sat in that nasty excuse for an eatery and cried for ages- I dunno how long.
I love animals, and never would have hurt one in my old life before I came here.
That little cat gave me the first bit of affection I'd had since arriving here, and I destroyed it. I had lost a little bit of my humanity, I think.
Nobody in the diner could look at me. I guess everybody cries eventually.
But I realised something- this place had changed me.
I wasn't going to let it change me a single f***ing bit more.
Any change from now on will be on MY Terms. Not the Islands, not The Watchers. Mine.
There are many contestants here who have made massive changes to their bodies in order to be faster, or stronger, or luckier, or who knows what. I may have to do the same, eventually.
But, whatever changes we choose to make to our physical forms, we must all maintain the core of what makes us human- our hearts or souls or whatever that is.
We can't afford to lose even a scrap of what truly makes us the people that we are.
Want to know why?
Because one day, when I am strong enough, and fast enough, and lucky enough, I will destroy that infernal thing, the thing that mutated this island and its flora and fauna into what it is now. Me and anyone else who wants to join that party.
Then, we will, row, swim, ride, fly, walk or whatever you like our way out to the Failboat and The Watcher.
We will destroy all the camera feeds and uplinks.
We will tear The Watcher limb from inhuman limb.
And we will all go home.
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