A boat rows through swampy cold waters. On the boat are three men. One rugged looking man was unconscious and pale lying down on the boat, and the other two men were rowing, but their faces were hidden by medicine masks. The fog broke a little when they reached an island. The shore was rocky and a sheer jagged slope rose away from the beach fearfully. A bright ball in the sky was nearly blocked out by the thick hazy clouds and produced a dreary, dreamy atmosphere.

The two white robed medicine men tossed the lifeless body onto the beach and slowly rowed off. The man on the ground stirred and lifted his head enough to see the boat drifting quietly away. He looked around, then was suddenly stricken with panic and began panting feverishly. He opened his mouth and his voice cracked with dry words. Quickly, or as quickly as he could manage, he rose to his feet ignoring his splitting headache and ran after the vessel that disappeared in the fog that grabbed at it. The man huffed a couple more times and backed up out of the water like it was poison and looked around at the gnarled trees and vines that grew on the harsh terrain.

“Help!” he yelled hopelessly, knowing he was on an island for dead people. The effort of rising to his feet after so long lying down almost divided his head with white light, and the afterimage of a dark figure appeared in his head. But he ignored it and continued his tirade through out the day, running up and down the beach as best he could, cutting up his feet. “Help!” he vaguely was aware of the tide slowly sloshing up, consuming the beach to get at him. He was to his waist in water and the beach was eaten entirely, working on the cliff. For the first time he seemed to notice the engulfing water and scrambled up the slight cliff. The water seemed very heavy and to pull at him, but he was able to persevere and get up onto dry land. Or... mostly dry land.

Panting, he sat against a stubby, stunted oak and rested his damp head against it. The air was not chilly, like it was down on the beach, but very muggy and thick. He sat there, waiting to die.

Reaching into his pockets, he pulled out a small reserve of food. It might last him a day, or two if he was careful. But he was starving and careless and ate them all. It was rat, and the meat was rank, but when you're hungry, anything can taste like a feast. Especially if you were half mad already.

When he was done he rested his head again. The black swirling colors underneath his eyelids seemed to create the afterimage of a face all too familiar to him. It seemed to smile grimly at him. The image was his doom. It was the evil that dissolved this place ever so slowly. Too slowly.

“I'll eat three rats a day.” he said to himself, and laughed at himself madly. He sat there, in the eeriness of the soundless forest, and let himself be lost in the black image that became more and more clear.



And thats all i remember....