To what end

The annoyingly desperate squishing of mud underneath my boots haunts my ears, restless to remind me that I'm retreating. My mind, however, is quick to create small distractions that try to shake the feeling off. One begins stands out in particular. It slowly and methodically repeats itself over and over for hours as a sea of hatred boils within and drowns the rest of my anxieties.

"You are responsible for reinforcements. We may all pass, we may never make it to the mission objective, but if we lose you it's game over. There isn't anyone else who can avenge us."

Up ahead is a thick jungle terrain. It's trees form a maze of varied height and complexity. I had been trained to recognize the fauna of this area, but was caught off guard by the natural harmony that filled my eyes. I recognized a collection of Pai-Pai tree instantly. Their beautiful, 8-foot tall demeanor was complimented by their long drawn out branches that drooped down and showcased palm leaves twice the size of anything you might see in a movie. Their bark had a reddish tint with a blue bulge that swirled from bottom to top. Still, they paled in comparison to the Ezric Giants that surrounded them. These behemoths stretched far up for miles with trunks so wide it took me

My lungs are screaming but all that comes out is a constant soft wheeze. Its slow and steady pace is strangely soothing, like having an ac unit on at night. You lay there with nothing more than darkness and a slight hum to keep you company, the cold breeze gently caressing your tired skin. Before you know it you're lost within your own imagination, the unique memories that you can't seem to stop repeating, and even a mixture of both fantasy and reality. So that's what I did, I allowed myself to remember and be lost in my memories.

In nothing longer than a blink, my uncomfortable uniform was gone. Replaced with something much more casual. My shoes, I hated them, but they weren't needed anymore. I flexed my toes and was thoroughly surprised to feel the grainy familiarity of sand. The sound of crashing waves were fast approaching.

No.

They were already in front of me.

I often went to the beach to relax and gather my thoughts when I was younger. It was the smell and the promise of adventure that intoxicated me and a small group of friends that would often join my wild fantasies. As I look around I can still see them now.

Bill boldly marched toward the shoreline with his strong chin and calculated movements. He was always first on the scene to take advantage of an opportunity, even before anyone even knew one was there. His charismatic approach to negotiation was unrivaled and there wasn't a single time that his silver tongue couldn't get us out of trouble. I'd tell anyone who listened that he could sell ice to a penguin and then buy it back at half the price.

He was the only one of us to have a child. You would think that with his influence and quick-wit there would be an abundance of woman that crossed his gaze, but that type of live was nothing more than a short lived phase. You see, Bill was lucky enough to meet his soul mate at a young age. It was such a long time ago I barely remember a second when he wasn't head over heels for his wife.

Her name was Cynthia and she was a fiercely independent woman with the slyest glare you've ever seen. It was an icy look that sent a shiver down your spine as she began to read your unnerved mind.

They met at a gambling game, where she proceeded to win every bet except for one. Bill, who was flustered after spending the entire evening going broke, decided to use an all or nothing approach. To this day, I still don't know if it was just sheer luck or if she decided to throw the last match on purpose. But nobody could deny that fate was playing a part in that deck that night.

I remember how red Cynthia got when my friend chose to spend his winnings on a dinner date with her every weekend, until a whole month had gone by and every penny of the prize money was consumed by the flame of their love. Hilariously, he had began to freak out once he realized that the prize money was kaput. I took my time, waiting to see if Mr. Cool could rack his brain around how to keep this girl in his life and never realize that she was already there by choice.

Two years later, they eloped and had a beautiful baby boy at 17. As young as they were, I don't believe that child could have asked for better parents. You could tell that the stress of parenthood did not affect their love for each other. In fact, the last time I saw them together, their flame was a roaring inferno that most would envy for a lifetime.

In my dream-like state I saw him grab a long pointy stick that still had leaves on the other end and draw an "S" in the sand. Turning to my right, I saw the next member of my memories.

It was a girl named Patricia. She was collecting rocks and debris off of the beach, which was typical for her at least.

Her mannerism was rough, but deep down she had a tender heart. She would rather speak with actions than words and we respected her the most for that. While no one in our little group was well off financially, her family was dirt-poor and broken in shambles. She took it upon herself to work hard for a future.

Even with no formal training or experience, that never stopped her from working odd jobs with low hours. Sometimes, you would see her cleaning the beach and other times she was reading and teaching to the younger generation. She was always very motivated to move forward and and become a good role model for everyone in the area. Especially when it came to the youngest of her sisters, Ella.

Ella was the sweetest fairy princess you could have ever met. She constantly day dreamed about food. Somedays, all she ever talked about was traveling the world and trying meals from all over.

"One day," she squeaked with excitement out of nowhere, while we were doing homework, "I'm going to go to the farthest place from here and share all of the recipes that I learned. I'll make so many friends that nobody will want to fight us anymore."

We all agreed, regardless of the fact that we would have faced Patricia's wrath if we didn't, and made sure to tell her how amazing of an idea that was.

My family had never asked for a dime, but when my mother got sick, it was Patricia that constantly brought my family food while my father went out drinking. If there was one answer that girl could never accept, it had to be "no". One time I had tried to tell her to stop, we were grateful but I couldn't accept it knowing how much she had to suffer, even if she had gotten some help from Ella.

I ended up with my arm twisted behind my back that day. She whispered something in my ear so that my dear mother wouldn't hear it.

"You remember last year? My mom passed away while I was out. I worked so hard and for what? She'll never be able to taste the love I put in these sandwiches or read the notes that go with them. There isn't any amount of money that would allow me to go back in time, I've lost that experience forever. Please, let me do this ."

That was the first time I showed tears in front of anyone and I was glad it was her, the woman I could never repay.

In my mind she curiously made her way to Bill and built an O out of stones while giggling with him. They both sat down and continued to chuckle by their creations, unaware that I was watching. I had little time to process this, however, as my final friend could be seen in the distance.

His name was Timothy and he was simply staring out to the Sea, using the telescope we had gotten him for his 15th birthday. Of course, within a few weeks of receiving it he couldn't help but tinker and use other parts to enhance the tiny navigation tool. That's what always impressed us about Timothy.

His craftiness was only bound by his imagination. Although the youngest of the group, that didn't stop him from being the brightest. There was always had a practical approach to problems in his mind. We would often speak our ideas out loud with him and he would find out how to make them a reality. We essentially took care of him when he was sent to our island to live with his uncle, Germaine.

Germaine was a pretty cool guy. In fact he was the only one who had a radio that allowed universal world-wide communication, which made him quite the popular loner for long stretches at a time. Most people said it was because he was blind and nobody else cared to talk long enough about the atrocities committed abroad, but Germaine always told us it was because he was getting ready to save the world.

Timothy always took pride in that phrase with his family. Mainly because it was true for the most part. In fact the whole reason he was sent to stay with Germaine was because both of his parents willingly volunteered to participate in the war effort. He was uber patriotic for months, until they stopped receiving letters. After a year of silence, he was given a courtesy note. "Missing in action" it said.

Things were never the same after that. His smile, seemed forced. His words were laced with pain and covered in a sweet apologetic tone. It seemed he built his own mask and not for himself either. It was his payment to us. We all knew it but we never knew what to do or say, so we kept him busy instead and that seemed to work.

I can see you all. I see you all as you once were. I can tell the difference between how each one walks. The characteristics of your smile, I can see your lips. Yet your eyes aren't there. Not because I don't remember each of their unique and intricate forms. There's no way I could ever forget that. No, it's my shame that keeps me blind. I'll never be able to look any of you in the eyes again.

Just up ahead, in the real world, I could make out my destination. I grit my teeth and picked up the pace as the small barn grows slowly. It might have been my overactive imagination but the ground seemed to ripple under my feet. I felt like I was running on water to salvation. The door, which wasn't far now, seemed to beg for me to uncover the oasis inside.

I reached my hand out and counted the seconds to impact. But my face beat it to the punch.

Something fast had hit me in the back and went through my abdomen. It pushed me off of my feet and into the building so hard that the door swung closed behind me. I tried to get up, but was greeted by a searing sting. I didn't dare look down but I managed to crawl to a corner and take a deep breath. I giggled to myself.

What was wrong with me?

Why wasn't I as scared as that day? I'm laughing and numb for crying out loud, but I should be as terrified as I was back then. I began to gently sob as the memories pried their way out of my mental prison.

There was a famine going around caused by a blockade. We were always hungry and very desperate. To pass the time we would talk about what we would do if there was an escape from the island, and how much better we would make life for everyone else.

That's when I talked about having a fishing business. "I'd make a restaurant on a boat, so that there would be no way to ever run out of food and I'd hire you all. We would be the biggest attraction in the world."

Timothy gave us all his smug smile and asked, "why not start now?"

Why not indeed?

So he got to work making a makeshift watercraft and fishing gear. Without giving a second thought we all hopped on. My heart had began to race with excitement and Bill took to the front of our "ship". He stood tall and as loudly as he could he gave a roaring speech and commanded us to "sing the tunes of our forefathers to give thanks to the bountiful sea". We laughed innocently like kids on a field trip.

I began to dip my hand in the water when I noticed a fin peering out not too far away. Then I noticed two more, and then five more. Sweat began to form around my forehead as my palms began to shake. I opened my mouth to speak when we were struck.

Bill, still standing and watching the waves had lost his balance and fell. His momentum was just enough to knock the boat off balance, dropping us all into the wet unknown with him. I remember panicking and darting my eyes around in the stinging water. I relaxed a little when I realized that there weren't sharks in the water, but dolphins. That is until I saw what was accompanying the dolphins. We were surrounded by hundreds, maybe even thousands of jellyfish. Their thin translucent tentacles danced around us like playful pasta. I began swatting a couple away but only succeeded in having their extremities wrap around my skin. It was painful and upon wincing I looked down.

Underneath us resided the biggest of them all surrounded by other mutated-looking horrors. It's shockingly massive appendages stretched longer than our bodies, reaching so far deep the endpoint was out of lights reach. The sheer thickness and monstrosity reminded me of a kraken and I knew it was full of deadly poison that we could never hope to survive even if we made it to shore.

I saw an opening and began to swim for it, hoping that my friends would follow. I couldn't help but turn around and make sure. But all I saw was Bill, being dragged into the abyss towards the leviathan jellyfish by two dolphins. His hand was stretched out. I could see in his eyes as they met mine, the irony of the situation. He couldn't talk himself out, not when his silver tongue was unable to communicate with his captors. To my left I saw Patricia struggling with Timothy, who had fallen unconscious. Her face twisted with pain and pleaded with me for help, but I couldn't.

Up until this point, I was the swimmer, the runner, the athletic kid. I might have been able to do so much more. Instead I ran away. I did it to get someone else as much as I did out of terror, out of cowardice. I regret that decision every day.

Patricia and Timothy both made it back to shore with severe stings. She dragged him to land, but he was under the water for too long. After they were checked in to the hospital, it was found that Tim had suffered from brain damage and his condition was worsening. Patricia didn't change but I never saw her again. According to the staff, she would try to take care of him and then work to take care of her family every single day. After a couple of weeks, the famine had finally creeped it's tight grip over the youngest in her family. By the time I had worked the courage to visit, she had succumbed to the pressure and the pain. She decided to go out on her own terms.

Young Timothy's condition made him unable to make memories that lasted longer than three seconds. Even so, he could never look at our ocean again. It's beauty, like his sense of wonder, had eroded away forever. When he saw my face, he simply asked "where were you?" and continued repeating it until I left.

My mother tried to get me to move forward, she tried to help me heal. But her time came too soon when all of our money was spent on liquid bread. My world had crashed and burned, I realized there was nothing for me here.

Soon after, I decided to enroll in the army and leave the island forever. I had a crazy dream that I could help end the war and get back at the blockade that started the famine. I was always the one who gets away and leaves for the greater good. I thought it lucky to be the survivor. As long as I survive I can keep sending money back to Bill's wife and kid anonymously. I wanted to know if what I did was a help or just a cruel constant reminder.

Maybe one day I can even travel back and recount the stories of his old man, the adventures of our group. Maybe I can keep their memory immortal. But lately, my luck has been a curse. So many people gone for me to live and for what?

Maybe that's why it's so funny to me now. I thought my life was a revenge story, but it's always been a tragic irony.

I ran into this barn for nothing. I became the survivor for nothing. There are no pigeons here, just owls. Owls that probably ate the pigeons. Owls that will be the last ones to hear my story. Owls that stare at me with pity in their eyes.

Do I even deserve that?

Maybe not, but you can't help it, can you?

Air whistles through the wood of the barn. A small crash and then more heat, but this time I can feel it on my neck.

A tragic irony.

To what end?