An Endless Sacrifice

A creaking of the hull stirred me from my deep slumber. I began to panic, trying to make out the structure of the room I was in: a shadowy-dark box with a heap of potato sacks in the corner, and a small trapdoor in the floor of the deck above. Each slight turn of the ship allowed the build up of water on the floor to shift, further soaking what was left of my garments. Up above, loud clamor from the crew could be heard, but their tones were becoming increasingly concerning. Another creaking of the ship initiated one scream after the other, followed by the words “abandon ship.” My heart sank.

I immediately tried to find the latch to unlock the trapdoor, when I suddenly got tossed to the other side of the cargo hold. Several other screams were heard, until they were extinguished by splashes of objects–no, not objects–people. The crew had begun to jump overboard. I screamed twice–three times; yet, not a word in response.

I crawled my way to where a part of the trapdoor was slightly visible and pried it open with the remnants of my strength. Heavy rain began to pour into the room and after lifting myself out onto the deck I was tossed yet again against a side of railing–praying I did not slip through. The few crew members still aboard were loading onto the last remaining lifeboat. I grasped onto the railing and pulled myself to where they were disembarking from. “Please wait! Let me on!” I yelled, choking on rain.

“Save yourself kid.” Were the final words uttered by the captain before pushing away from the ship. I sat in disbelief; the man who had saved me from a storm that wiped out my home now showed no remorse in the face of danger. I struggled to keep my eyes open with the rain pelting my face. I couldn’t tell which droplets were rain or tears. Through my barely perceptible eyesight, the ship looked fine–besides the entire bow ripped off of the front. I laid down, allowing the last of my humility and strength to dissipate. A rip in the clouds allowed me to see the moon for the remaining moments of my life, the stars glistened ever so brightly amidst the hopelessness.

The sun’s piercing rays hit my face. Was I in heaven? No, it was not heaven. The sensation in my fingers had completely disappeared; yet, I could feel some sort of warmth radiating off of the grainy ground–sand. I scanned my surroundings and realized I had washed up on a lush island. Tropical palm trees and plumerias decorated the scene, and a plethora of seashells were scattered around the shoreline. By some miracle, my clothing had remained together, but my hair was in knots and multiple scars and bruises embellished my skin.

I carefully followed a path through the trees that looked decently worn–meaning life was on this island; however, I was not sure if this meant certain death, or possible survival. Through a clearing of trees was a plume of smoke, and an adequately large house–extremely out of place–was sat in the middle. The house had marble pillars, limestone walls, and multiple archways–nothing that a man could have built with materials from an island.

I found a bush to hide behind, hoping whoever lived in the house was welcome to visitors. I slowly crept behind more bushes and foliage until I reached the campfire from where the smoke was sourced. Upon the bricks of the campfire walls laid a mass of different fruits: grapes, figs, and apples. As if on que, my stomach rumbled and I couldn’t remember the last time I ate something before being shipwrecked and stranded. I looked around at my surroundings several times before jumping at the food, which nonetheless, tasted quite strange. The fruit was sweet–not grape, fig, and apple sweet–some weird taste I couldn’t put my finger on. I kept consuming the fruits until a sudden wave of exhaustion swept over me. My entire body began to grow hot and I stumbled onto the ground. Was I really going to die–again? I slowly began to fade in and out of consciousness, and a resemblance of a figure walked out of the house before my breathing ceased.

I awoke on a bed. An extremely comfortable bed with multiple blankets and pillows, in a room that looked like it was made to hold royalty. The walls were adorned with mosaics and several carvings of figures and buildings. Every single piece of furniture in the room was intricately designed and couldn’t have been made of anything but the finest wood and marble. I snapped out of my daze and found myself in a clean robe–maybe I was dead. Before I was able to step foot on the ground, I heard several footsteps from outside of the door. My immediate response was to pretend to still be asleep, when I should’ve been prepared to fight whatever stepped foot in the room.

A boy stepped in the room. A boy.

Through my half closed eyelids, I could see the figure wearing the same robe I had on, with somewhat discernable dark curly hair and strong facial features. In one of his hands was a tray of food and a glass of what I hoped was water; in his other was a wet rag. He placed the rag upon my forehead which immediately cooled down the intense burning sensation in my head. I wondered if this act of hospitality was to be taken safely. I cautiously opened my eyes to see the now unfuzzy figure in front of me.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, “but, you’ve been out for quite some time.”

My fight or flight senses kicked in and I scrambled off of the bed. Once I stood up straight, my legs gave out, and I collapsed on the floor. Instead of moving, I sat on the floor in defeat. I looked up at the boy, who was staring at me with a questionable expression. “How long was I out for?” I asked.

“Seven hours.” He replied, whilst helping me onto the bed. My jaw dropped.

“It’s because you ate ambrosia-infused fruit.”

I gave him a puzzled expression.

“Ambrosia is the food of the gods. You’re lucky there was barely any in them.”

“What would have happened if I ate more?”

“You’d be dead.”

I evaded death yet again. Random pieces of the puzzle I was trying to put together still weren’t fitting. “What in the world are you doing with ambrosia then?”

“I’m a demigod–meaning I can eat this without passing out for seven hours.” He said in a joking tone. His comment didn’t amuse me, I just wanted to leave the island and go home. I had been stranded for a day–no, several days? I began to panic. My memory was hazy and I couldn’t remember what day it was; my home; my name?

“Mallory,” I breathed, “my name is Mallory.”

The boy looked confused. “Hi Mallory, I'm Alexander.”

“No, no. That’s not what I meant. How do I get home?”

Alexander began to mouth something, but he paused. “Well, you can’t.”

Every muscle in my body tensed up; my breathing sped up; my heart pace accelerated. I wasn’t going to deal with nonsense from a stranger. “Fine. If you won’t show me how to leave then I'll do it myself.”

Alexander willingly moved out of my way whilst I stumbled out of the room and into the grassy clearing. The final rays of the sun were dissipating below the horizon; I would’ve loved to watch the sunset if I wasn’t stranded on a random island. I grabbed several pieces of driftwood from the shoreline and tied them together with a long, seemingly durable piece of plant. It barely stayed afloat on the water, but I took my chances nonetheless. I didn’t want to remain on the island a second longer. As I paddled further into the ocean, I turned around to see Alexander standing from where I departed. His face had a longing, sad expression painted upon his features. The farther I floated out, the more intense the waves became; yet, I assumed nothing of it. As I approached some floating wood, my raft suddenly split–a ginormous swell of waves crashed on top of me. I screamed, and plunged under the icy cold waters, until I washed up–coughing–on shore. I opened my eyes to see Alexander standing above my limp body.

“I told you, you can’t leave the island.” He said.

I had no energy to add any sense of urgency into my voice, “I need to go home. Why can’t I leave?”

He sighed, “the island is cursed. Whoever ends up here must stay here for a…long time.”

A somewhat small flicker of hope consumed me. “Does that mean that there’s a possibility?”

“Yes…,” he paused, “but, I would have to grant you the ability to leave.”

“Then do it,” I said in a demanding tone, “please.”

Silence consumed the crashing waves. His expression was barely perceptible as the night darkened.

“I can’t. I’m sorry. No one has been here in a long time.”

I ached an incomprehensible sentence, and willed myself to storm back into the house. The last bit of light slipped away, and so did my hope.

Over the next few weeks, Alexander’s hospitality was met with my disregard. He cooked, ate meals with me, and tried to entertain me; but, he would always find me staring out into the ocean at the end of the day, and we both knew what I was thinking: home.

When Christmas approached, he gifted me a necklace that had washed up on shore exactly a year ago. It was beautiful, I have to admit. When my birthday was on the rise, he told me he had a better gift for me.

But, every single thing he did in my favor I assumed was so I wouldn’t beg to leave.

One day, on a particularly windy evening, I caught Alexander sitting in my regular spot. There was no set time for my outings–there wasn’t even a way to track time on the island–yet, I arrived there like clockwork, and so did he.

“What are you doing here?” I asked softly. He never joined me for outings, so I wondered what had changed.

“I got word from my father.” He replied.

I sat down beside him. “About?”

“He told me I can leave the island,” his voice faltered.

“Really?” I was surprised, but I knew that the tone of his voice meant that there was something else he wasn’t telling me. After a few minutes, he built up the courage to respond, “he told me I can leave if someone else takes my place here, I have until dawn tomorrow.” He looked at me–his green eyes were piercing. I knew what he wanted from me–he wanted me to take his place on the island. I was waiting for an apology for keeping me on the island for however long, and how his hospitality should mean I should take his place, but he didn’t utter another word.

When morning arrived, I couldn’t find Alexander anywhere. There were a multitude of reasons why: he had hidden out of self pity; he’d somehow left and abandoned me here; he was planning a surprise birthday party for me–all which I was okay with.

I eventually found him on a pier, South of the front of the island. I had never travelled further than the house out of concern, but there he was–sitting with a small backpack next to a wooden sailboat.

I approached him cautiously; he was staring out into the ocean aimlessly. “Did you find someone to take your place?” I asked. He shook his head, still faced towards the water. “I have your gift.” He said.

I cocked my head at him. He clarified, “for your birthday.”

“Oh, thank you.” I could feel the tension in the air rising–I felt a wave of uncertainty wash over the both of us. “Is it another necklace?” I said jokingly, to try and lighten the mood.

“Would you rather jewelry or freedom?,” He lifted up the bag and pointed towards the boat, “it’s for you.”

I couldn’t help but feel like I was being tricked. I was on the island for probably a year–it didn’t occur to me that the gift of freedom would be so abruptly handed over. I had gotten used to the island, forgotten my old home for that matter. All of my memories of staring at the ocean, waiting–waiting for something, anything. I came to the realization that I wasn’t waiting for…anything.

Something inside me grew with rage, “but why? Why are you doing this? You’ve kept me here out of loneliness, and now you’re fine with me leaving?” I realized my tone was harsher than it was supposed to be. His face became sullen.

“I’ve concluded that it wasn’t right to keep you here because I was isolated,” he motioned with his hands to let him finish speaking before I lashed out at him again, “but, I’ve realized that all of this time I was waiting for someone to come, I had gotten used to being alone. When you finally arrived, I didn’t want to let you go. But after a year of thinking, I had gotten what I was so desperately waiting for–you,” his voice croaked, “you rescued me from loneliness, and now, I want to repay you.”

My brain immediately told me to reach for the bag and hop on the boat to leave–but I couldn’t. I tried to grab the bag, but my hand didn’t move. My heart was trying to hold onto a place which wasn’t my home–but what even was anymore?

“What are you waiting for?” Alexander asked, almost as if he was urging me to leave.

“I…I can’t.”

He looked at me with genuine concern; he probably thought I had some sort of sickness that was messing with my brain.

“You go. Take the boat and find somewhere nice. I have nowhere to go.” I said whilst pushing him towards the water. We kept on bickering for what felt like eternity–it was almost like the roles had reversed. Still, I knew he wanted to leave, I could see it in his eyes. We both remained on the dock as the sun set.

“Alexander, listen to me.”

“Go on.”

“I need you to leave. Your home is anywhere but here. To you, this place is a prison. To me, this is now my home, and nothing can change that.”

“But I’ve kept you here like a prisoner.”

“For good reason, I have nowhere else to go. Now go, before the sun sets.” I said, before my tears started to run loose. He had started crying far before that.

He glanced at the boat, and took one final look at his house; the island; and me. I took off the necklace he gave me and placed it in his hands, wrapping his fingers around it. He gradually walked towards the boat and let the sail loose–his eyes fixated on me. The waters around him calmed as the sun set further, and the water pushed him out into the unknown.

I took a leisurely stroll around the island, contemplating my decisions-but found it comforting to know it was all mine now. No one was here to rescue me; I gave up my chance at freedom for someone who deserved it more. The island is my home now.