The Snake and the Shadow

Lauren and I were walking through the crowded park, easing into our first date. I already knew I was going to marry her. She was swaying beside me like a buoy floating in the ocean. When our hands grazed, a shiver rocketed up my spine, exploding into a blush across my face.

Her head turned toward a group of children kicking a checkered soccer ball around. “What do you think?” she asked.

“About soccer?” I replied.

She shook her head, a strand of blonde hair sweeping across her forehead. “No, silly. Children. Would you ever want them?”

“That would be nice,” I said.

As a reward for my answer, her hand brushed against mine, lingering for a few seconds before pulling away. I’m so consumed by her touch that the rest of the world fades into white noise.

It’s just the two of us, walking along a colorless path — there are no triumphant screams from soccer players, no squirrels chasing each other from tree to tree — only us.

Tilting her head toward mine, she asked, “What TV shows do you like?”

Again, she’s caught me off guard. If I wasn’t so enamored, I would have questioned the randomness of her inquiries. Instead, I responded, “I love the show Survival Island.”

I’m embarrassed to admit that I’ve watched all 45 seasons of the reality TV series. I obsess over it in the way that most guys obsess over sports.

Lauren raised a hand to cover her mouth, chuckling in a way that reminded me of a chipmunk.

She thinks I’m a loser. The thought attacked my insides like a parasite, ripping at my stomach, wrenching my lips into an ugly frown.

“No,” Lauren cried, placing a hand on my shoulder, “I’m laughing because I love that show too!”

Her words put a hanger between my teeth, forcing a smile that may never come off. I’d never met a girl who was into the show — actually, I’ve never met anyone who was into it…

We spend the next half hour talking about Survival Island: our favorite seasons, favorite moments, favorite challenges.

“I’ve actually thought about applying for the show,” I told her.

“Why haven’t you?” she asked, not taunting or teasing, but genuinely wondering why I haven’t pursued it.

“Honestly… I’m worried I would get hurt out there.”

She nodded, knowing that it’s a dangerous show — filled with physical challenges, grueling conditions, and wild animals.

As if overhearing our conversation, the sky darkened, spilling rain onto the grass. The sudden slickness caused Lauren to lose her balance. She stumbled, free-falling toward the wet ground. Reacting with instincts that I never knew I had, I broke her fall. I’m bent low, my hand beneath the small of her back. From this position, it’s as if we’re performing an elegant dance.

“Careful,” I said, pulling her upright.

“Who’s your favorite winner, by the way?” Her bizarre timing unnerved me — more than before.

“I guess Danny from season 10,” I replied, pursing my lips ever so slightly. A thank you would have been nice.

A throaty cackle erupted from her throat. “I thought you said you watched the show!” she said, her voice modulated as if speaking from underwater. Her lips curled into an unnaturally high smile.

“I do…” I replied, confused and creeped out.

In the distance, I spot the silhouette of one of the kids from earlier — a shadow holding a soccer ball tight to their chest. I feel an urge to sprint through the rain toward the child, but Lauren’s grip was iron, holding onto the crook of my arm.

“Danny never won!” she said, mascara pouring down her face like black raindrops — or poison.

She’s wrong. I know for certain that Danny won season ten; I have the winners memorized. So I’m stunned when she shows me her phone: there’s a picture of Ethan from season ten, proclaiming him as the winner.

Just then, something slithered past my feet, its slimy body brushing against my leg. “Did you see that?” I said, alarmed.

It’s a snake with segmented scales alternating between neon blue and blood red. My insides turned numb as it rose to its full height — at least three feet tall — its tongue flaring out, waving back and forth over its pointed fangs. Venom dripped from its maw, mixing with the rain like deadly ink.

I fled, sprinting toward the child holding the soccer ball. I expected the image of the child to solidify, to change from a shadow to a person, but the opposite happened. As I ran through the deluge, the shadow retreated. It was as if he was on a hook and someone was yanking him backward.

I was desperate to reach the boy — desperate to see him. “Come back! Wait!”

“Kyle, wake up! Wake up!” I lurched upward, chest heaving like I’d just been given CPR. I reached for my ankle, searching for fang marks. There were none, but it stung anyway — a gift from my subconscious.

“Baby, it’s okay. You were having a nightmare,” my wife said calmly, rubbing my shoulders, single-handedly willing my heartbeat to slow.

“Lauren,” I wheezed, reaching across the bed to touch her, to confirm that she was really there. I inhaled her scent, sweet like strawberries. I was okay. I was home.

“Another nightmare?” she asked, hand still rubbing my shoulders.

Nodding, I described the dream. When I finished, Lauren said, “Well, I promise you that Danny won season 10.”

“That’s a relief…” I said half-heartedly.

Attempting to put me at ease, Lauren said, “You’ll feel better when you’re on that plane tomorrow.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t go…” I replied, placing a hand on her belly.

“You have to go,” Lauren answered firmly. “It’s your dream.”

“It was my dream,” I retorted. “This is my dream now — being here with you and our son.”

As if hearing me, the baby kicked against her stomach, two soft taps that warmed my soul. He was due in two months, and there was no telling if I would be back in time for his arrival.

Tomorrow, I was leaving for an undisclosed island in the South Pacific. Being cast on Survival Island had been my dream for so long, but now the prospect filled me with terror. I couldn’t stop thinking about Lauren and our unborn son — what would their lives be like if something happened to me?

I would have backed out if it wasn’t for Lauren insisting that I see it through. “One day, our son will be proud of you for doing this.”

How could I argue with that?

The next day, Lauren drove me to the airport. I kissed her and the baby goodbye and didn’t move from the curb until their car was out of sight.

I sleepwalked through security, then boarded the plane. The show had booked me a first class ticket. I eased into a plush reclining seat, basking in the luxury, trying not to think about what I was leaving behind.

I had to embrace the experience, to make Lauren proud. As the plane rose into the sky, I thought about my favorite contestant Danny. I was a kid when he won, and he had seemed like a superhero to me. Could I be that hero for someone else? If I performed well, would there be someone who says Kyle was their favorite player ever?

Sighing, I leaned back in my seat. The flight was 20 hours — enough time to catch up on sleep. But of course, the second I shut my eyes, the flight attendant tapped me on the shoulder.

“Sir, would you like a drink or a snake?”

“A snake?” I asked, fear creeping up my gut.

“A snack, sir,” the dark-haired woman replied. “We have pretzels, peanuts…”

I ordered a cola and some potato chips, which were served on a silver tray that fit perfectly in my lap. I popped the bag of chips open, relishing the saltiness of the first bite. Then I reached for the cola can—

“What the…”

The can was slimy, like it had been dragged through mud. Instead of the normal red design, it had segmented rings of neon blue and crimson red.

It wriggled against my palm —

“Ah!” I tossed it down the aisle, watching as it rolled across the floor, spraying black liquid that stained the carpet.

“Sir! Sir!” The flight attendant was shaking me. “Are you okay, sir?”

I was searching for breath, my lungs burning. “I’m fine,” I gasped. “A bad dream is all.”

The good news was I had slept for nearly the entire flight. An hour after my nightmare, the plane touched down in the South Pacific. The sun blasted my face as I deplaned.

As I was ferried to the island, I was haunted by nightmarish thoughts: My son growing up without me, Lauren marrying another man, a snake with red and blue scales …

I tried my best to banish these thoughts, but they lingered like ink in a pool of water.

Mercifully, I reached the island. The awesomeness of being on my favorite show momentarily lifted my spirits. I stepped off the boat onto a wooden dock that led to the secluded beach, where I was introduced to my two teammates: Richard and Raymond. We were tasked with setting up a shelter and getting to know each other.

Richard was in his twenties — a Black guy with muscles thicker than boulders. He was going to be a strong competitor.

Raymond was older, late fifties, maybe even early sixties. It was unusual for the show to cast someone his age. “What’s your story, old-timer?” Richard asked.

Raymond’s eyes were pale blue like the ocean, his hair brown with threads of gray. He flashed a smile that revealed two golden teeth. “I never really thought much of this game,” he answered cryptically.

Above us, the sun was starting to set. It dipped beneath the sea, an orb the color of pink lemonade — it was breathtaking. Raymond stopped speaking to admire the view, waiting until the last blade of light had passed before he said, “Truth is, I’m here for my son.”

My chest constricted. It felt like my heart was cracking.

“He always wanted to be on this show — but he never got the chance.” Tears spilled from the old man’s cheeks. “Died last year. I’d give anything to spend more time with him.”

His words pushed me over the edge.

I stood, legs wobbling beneath me. Richard and Raymond didn’t seem to notice. “I’m going to take a walk,” I told them, but my words were drowned out, like I was yelling at them from the bottom of the ocean.

Part of my brain finally understood.

I ran to the edge of the beach, my toes dipping in the shallow waters.

Something tapped the back of my leg. I whirled around to find a checkered soccer ball floating lazily in the water.

Past the ball, back by the shelter, was the shadow of a boy. I picked up the ball and chased after him. “Hey! I have your ball!” I shouted, but the boy drifted farther and farther away. He vanished into the jungle behind our shelter. I followed, ignoring the safety protocols and sprinting into the dangerous woods.

The shadow came to a stop behind a thicket of vines. Finally, I was able to approach him. Holding the ball out, I offered it to the boy. “Here,” I said, smiling, “take it.”

When he stepped out of the vines to take the ball, he was no longer a boy, but a snake. The snake.

And there was no ball in my hand — only a pair of fangs. They pressed into my flesh, plunging me into an ocean of darkness.

Muffled voices echoed down into the depths:

“We’re losing him!”

“Highly venomous.”

“Hallucinations…”

The world was fading, darkness filling my lungs like water, drowning me. I tried to swim to the surface, desperately flailing my arms, but it was no use.

I drifted away to the sound of a sharp, steady beeeeeeeeeeep.

Am I dead?

It was a natural thought, waking to so much white light.

“He’s waking up!” an excited voice shouted.

Footsteps raced into the room. A beam of light burst into my eyes, followed by a man’s voice asking, “Kyle, are you with us?”

“I…” I struggled to find my voice. “What happened?”

“You were bitten by a highly venomous snake. You were unconscious for 48 hours…”

Okay… that’s a lot. I took a second to let my eyes adjust to the light. I was in a standard hospital room with two doctors and three nurses crowding by my bed. My body was a mess of wires and IVs.

“Am I going to be okay?”

The doctor hesitated, which nearly caused me to go into another coma. Perhaps seeing the dread on my face, he quickly said, “You’re going to be fine. It was touch and go for a while, but you should be through the worst of it.”

“Thank God,” I said, worry melting from my shoulders. “Can I go home?”

“Not for a couple of days. We need to monitor you,” he replied, then added, “We have to be positive that the venom is out of your system.”

Apparently, the venom contained a powerful hallucinogen that can make it hard to differentiate between reality and fantasy. It can also affect memory, which was a scary prospect.

The doctor ran a few tests, ordered some new IVs, and said that if I was symptom-free in 48 hours, I would be allowed to go home.

He asked me if I was sad to be medically removed from the contest.

“No,” I answered honestly. I was thrilled that I would be going home — that I wouldn’t miss the birth of my first child.

Two days later, there were no signs of venom in my system. I was in the clear — free to go home. A nurse came to read my discharge papers, but she was interrupted by a familiar face.

Josh Castle, the host of Survival Island, had come to send me off. His hair was jet black, matching his aviator shades — he was the epitome of cool.

“Kyle, I’m sorry you didn’t get a fair shot at the show.” He sounded genuine; he always did.

“It’s okay,” I replied weakly. “I probably would have been the first one out anyway.”

He chuckled, then turned his head toward the lobby. “I have a little surprise for you. I spoke to your wife, and she told me that your favorite winner was from season 10…”

Danny must be here! I’d wanted to meet him since I was a little kid! I was so excited that the heart rate monitor started beeping.

Josh Castle smirked, then said, “I thought you’d like to meet him. Come on in!”

A tall man with a long red beard and neon blue eyes entered. “Hey Kyle, I’m Ethan. I heard you’re my biggest fan.”