The Island
By Amberly A. M. Oosthuizen
Anne screamed. The lucious tropical plants were beginning to melt into vicous black tar. She felt the ground beneath her dirty, bare feet begin to shake. She looked down, hesitantly, at the cracks into the earth beneath her. She took a breath, inhaling sulfur and chlorine and then the earth swallowed her whole.
She cried out as she fell into the opaque abyss. Suddenly the fall stopped and she hit her head on a large, brown rock.
As she drifted in and out of conciousness, a dozy, purple mist started to rise. The mist pulled Anne off the slimy ground and carried her into a giant hand carved out of the rock face. It then dropped her into the clammy ochre palm.
A vociferous man was operating the hand and as Anne awoke, she could feel it clamping down on her, squeezing the life out of every pore...
She tried to Ameliorate the situation and she fell through the space between the fingers, straight into oblivion; where she was vivisected into an infinite amount...
Caution: desire will swallow you whole like the island.
© Amberly A. M.Oosthuizen
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