by Robert C Ray
Finally, he had no choice, and intended to only keep moving until he found a suitable place to sit. Such an option was not so quickly forthcoming, so he simply sat down, and leaned back against a tree. The hard ground seemed to feel just fine at this moment.
Keeping an eye out for the strange men, he once again tried to remember anything about his life that could help him figure out who he was, though all he could find was an endlessly vast blank. Whom could he possibly be that he would end up in such a situation?
As he was pondering such things, he began to notice a faint sound. A glorious sound it was indeed, for it was the sound of moving water.
From what he could tell, it was a small stream, and although he could not see it, he had a good idea of which way to go in order to find it.
With newfound energy he arose, and began to follow the sweet, sweet sound. Gradually it grew louder, and he knew that glorious re-hydration was right around the corner, so to speak.
Finally, he came upon the small stream, and quickly kneeled near its edge. Forming a cup with his hands, he began to scoop the clean water to his lips until he was completely refreshed, and then finished by pouring some of it over his head. It seemed to be the first thing to go right since he had awakened, but his good fortune was short lived.
Suddenly there came a thud, and a sharp pain, and then there was only darkness.
* * *
Slowly, he was awakened by the sounds of chanting, and when he opened his eyes, there they were before him, dancing chaotically around a small fire, seemingly celebrating their catch. None of this helped the throbbing in his head, as he wondered where on Earth he had washed ashore.
Leaning forward, he found that his hands were tied behind him, and that a small tree kept him in place. He tried for a moment to free himself, but found that the knots were well tied. Now he really wondered who he was, and what he might have done to deserve such a fate, but as before, there were only mounting questions.
For a while, he sat there watching them as they danced and chanted, and then saw what appeared to be a story telling session. One at a time, they waved their spears around and went on in their own language, as if to prove their own manhood to the other two.
Although he could not understand a word of what they were saying, he imagined that he had friends somewhere that were not too much different. Sure, they would have been better dressed, but he could imagine sitting around a table at some local pub, sharing stories over a beer. He imagined that men, in one way or another, were the same everywhere.
Just then, it hit him like a rock! He had just had his first thought that even resembled a memory, and now he knew what he liked to drink. Too bad, he thought, because fine wines and champagnes would have meant that he was wealthy. Nonetheless, it still excited him.
"I like beer," he shouted to his captors, though soon determined that this was not the best decision.
Standing from where he had sat, one of the men reached for his spear, and began to approach him with the butt of the spear pointed directly at him. This could only mean one thing . . . another injury and a larger headache when he next awoke.
* * *
This time he awoke from a firm nudge on the shoulder, and a soft voice that whispered from behind him.
"Wake up," she urged him, yet he was feeling quite disoriented, and slow to come to his senses.
His vision was blurred, but he could vaguely make out the smoldering fire, and the men sleeping around it. The crackling embers echoed in his head, and he struggled to pull together his double vision.
"If you truly want me to," she whispered with a slight Asian accent, "I will free you from these men."
He struggled to speak, so he simply nodded his head. That alone was painful enough, though the feeling of his restraints falling to the ground behind him made it all worth it.
"Follow me," she told him as she tried to help him to his feet, having to catch him as his knees began to buckle.
Moments later, he found his footing, and managed a simple "ok," before she quickly made her way into the jungle.
He followed as fast as he could, which was not very fast at all, and he couldn't actually see her. It was the blur of her motion, and sheer determination that kept him going in the right direction. If only it were enough to keep him from stumbling about.
Finally he fell, yet found the woman quickly upon him, helping him back to his feet.
"Thank you," he mumbled, and though he could not see her face, he could hear the smile in her voice as she replied.
"You are welcome," she said before moving back through the darkness.
For about ten more minutes, he struggled through the jungle, occasionally stopping to lean on a tree to regain his balance, until he reached the small clearing where she stood waiting.
"This will be far enough," she told him, and though his vision was still quite blurred, he got his best look at her so far. Her silhouette seemed quite fit, and he could tell that she had long, dark hair, but that was the extent of what he could perceive.
"You should lie down and rest until sunrise," she suggested, and that certainly sounded like the best idea.
Dropping slowly to the ground, he lay on his back and closed his eyes. Softly the Earth spun beneath him, yet the motion was far more relaxing than the stumbling he had been doing.
Then he felt her gently lift his head, and place something that felt like soft fur beneath it. It was quite comfortable, and he soon found himself sleeping once more.
* * *
Awakening this time would prove to be the most pleasant so far, despite the fact that it began by having his head set gently back on the firm ground. The dizziness had faded away, and as he opened his eyes, he could clearly see light, fluffy clouds passing through a beautiful, blue sky.
Sitting up, he cleared the sleep from his eyes before twisting around to see the woman behind him. She was tying a fur strap behind her back, which covered her breasts, and was not displeased to have rested his head on that fur, last night. He also noted that it matched well with the fur, wraparound skirt that hung from her hips.
"Good morning," she said with a smile that gleamed as bright as her enchanting, blue, Asian eyes.
"Good morning," he replied as he turned back away, trying to regain his composure. "Where am I?"
"You are on my island."
He thought about her answer for a moment, wondering what she meant by "my island," and then stood to his feet.
"And where is your island?" he inquired as he turned to face her once again, finding that her beauty was equally as stunning the second time around.
"It is right here," she returned as though the answer was obvious. "We must be going now."
Once again, she began to make her way through the jungle, though at a pace more to his liking, and as he followed her, he was amazed at how graceful she seemed in such an environment.
Seeing that his line of questioning was getting him nowhere, he tried a different approach.
"Who were those men back there?" he asked while stepping over and around the local foliage.
"They are the savages from the other island," she told him without turning around, which suited him just fine. "They are always hunting for me, but they are not as smart as they think."
For about five minutes, he followed her, still a bit stunned by her beauty, and now he knew two things about himself. Not only did he enjoy a cold beer, but he surely liked the company of a woman as well.
"Where is everyone else?" he inquired, finally breaking the silence.
At this she turned and graced him with a smile, which was amplified by an expression of innocence.
"There are only you and I," she replied before turning to continue through the dense jungle, "and those that search for me here."
Despite the nature of his company, this answer caused his heart to sink, as he came to realize that he was no closer to civilization than he was when she first rescued him. It wasn't that he did not appreciate the rescue. He sim
ply thought that he was near the end of this unfortunate ordeal.
"And what's your name?" he finally asked.
Stopping, she turned to speak to him face to face once more.
"I do not have a true name," she told him, "but you can call me whatever you like."
He smiled as she turned and continued. He could certainly think of a few good names, but decided to come up with one that did not so easily point out how attractive she was.
"Ok, then," he said as he followed her. "I'll just call you Princess."
He figured this was appropriate, since it was her island, and she was certainly too young to be a haughty old queen.
She paused a moment, and glanced back with a flattered smile that simply melted him. It was at this moment that he determined it would not be too terrible a thing if he happened to not find his way off the island right away.
He followed her for what seemed to be another hour, trying in vain to find some answers within himself. Nothing seemed any clearer. He had a name to call her, but no idea as to what he would call himself, which was the strangest feeling that he ever had, as far as he could remember.
Finally she stopped, and turned as if she knew that he was about to say something.
"I don't remember who I am."
"That has no bearing on how I see you," she said playfully, which seemed to make some sort of sense. After all, she could not have remembered him either, or so he believed.
"Sure," he returned with a smile of his own, "but what will you call me?"
He thought that he had her with this one.
"Why should I have to call you anything," she said, "when you are the only one here for me to talk to?"
He was quickly discovering that her answers were far from predictable, which only added to the variety of her beauty, yet this also frightened him. It was rather distracting, and he wondered if it would hinder his ability to remember who he was.
Whether it was truly a bad thing, or not, he determined that it mattered little at the moment. What mattered was keeping up with her as she turned, and took a quicker pace into the direction that they had been traveling.
CHAPTER THREE
Premature Birth
Clouded, the mind can be when oppression is your way of life, and always does it lead to rebellion. Never shall someone find peace within such a life, for peace is a knowledge that must be learned, and to some it is not given.
Silently a young, blonde haired woman sat on her bed in a full lotus position, dwelling upon her surroundings. They were the things that she had been forced to learn since she was a little child, and they were the things that she despised.
In front of her was an end table, and upon it was a knife like no other. This one was hers, and despite its familiarity, she hated it. It was also the one that never brought her the peace that she desired.
Its hilt was seven inches of black leather, wrapped in gold twine, and at its butt was a three-inch spike made of strong steel. The straight, ten inch, double-edged blade did well for its balance, yet the words etched upon it in Latin ripped at her soul. Actus me invito factus non est meus actus, which means, “the act done by me against my will is not my act.”
Just beside it was a place that she called her sanctuary, for it was there that she was allowed to be creative, albeit limited. It was her temple, her sanctuary, and her place of solitude. There were three monitors that surrounded her, with a big 4.1 GHz core, 16 GB RAM custom computer, with her own operating system, and although her internet access was limited, it was still her own.
How unfortunate it was that she was also forced to learn so many things here. Things that she had no desire to learn, like how to rebuild every automobile, or repair any appliance known to man. Anything electronic was one of her courses, and her memory was photographic.
It did have some fun things too, like how to disarm any personal security system through "back doors", or how to hack a public grid in order to see whatever there was to see, on any connected camera in the world. Satellites were her favorite, because they made her truly feel free, despite the fact that she was very much a prisoner.
Then she looked to the right of the computer, and trembled at the sight of the door that was there. This was the door that led to physical pain, and though she had been conditioned to ignore that pain, he always seemed to find a way to make her feel it anyway.
This was the door that led to the archaic weapons room, and it was the place that she was forced to understand physical combat, and the carnage thereof. It was not just the carnage of steel, but of poisons as well. There were not only household items, but also plants in the wild that could do unthinkable things to a person.
Without notice, a single tear fell down her soft, pale cheek, as she remembered all the horrors that happened there. This was where she had to mutilate innocent victims in order to get past her timidity. If she did not do so, he would punish her.
He would always kill them more horribly than she could, so she did as she was told. Where the pain began or ended, however, she could never understand, and eventually she became numb to it.
Brushing back her long, blonde hair, she snarled at the thought of the final room. This was the "gunpowder room", as he had called it, and it was here that she learned to fight with the most modern weaponry known to man. Down the middle was a firing range, and it was here that she was taught to shoot all firearms, in various situations, such as moving targets, or in the dimmest of lighting.
He would also give her living targets here, and killing them was easier, because it did not have to be so intimate. Here, she could simply shoot them, and be done with it.
Off in the corner was the simulator where she had to learn to drive, or fly, every vehicle that existed, and this was her only feeling of freedom in this room, despite the fact that it never truly took her far, far away. The feeling was euphoric nonetheless. Just imagining that she was flying away from the horrors, and the fact that he could not actually make her kill anyone there, was enough to make this her favorite place in this horrible room.
She also learned about explosives here, but never did she find the opportunity to blast her way out of the hell that she grew up in. She had thought about it many times, but he was always one-step ahead of her.
Clearing the tears from her light green eyes, she thought about her captor for a moment. It was a painful thought, but he was the one that drove her to the state of mind that she was now in. He taught her everything that she knew, which included many different things. Among these things were sixty-three different languages, proper etiquette in various cultures, and a broad range of seduction techniques designed for both of the sexes.
He taught her to endure pain, both mental and physical, yet he failed, for the pain that she was now experiencing was like no other. It was the pain of lost hope, and she felt it deeply.
Her first memory was of when he abducted her. She had always wanted to remember her mother, and her father, yet either he, or her own mind would not allow it. Since he told her that he had killed them both, she figured that it was simply a natural defense that she must have created for herself. Psychology was also something that she was forced to learn.
Words could not explain the hatred that she felt for him, and she only wished that she could use everything that he taught her against him, but he was always too smart for that. She could not figure out how, but he was always one-step ahead.
Picking up the blade on her end table, she deliberately ran it across her thumb to see the sight of her own blood. It was only a drop, and could never make up for the blood that he had forced her to spill. It was her blood, nonetheless.
She remembered how he had raped her at a young age, and called it punishment, conditioning, or pleasure... take your pick. She remembered how he seemed to like it, no matter why he got it, and she hated him for this the most.
Twirling the blade that she was so familiar with, she admired for the last time, its intricate design. Such a perfect tool for the purpose of kil
ling someone else, though it seemed beautiful enough to use upon herself.
For a moment, she thought about the government that he had always told her she was created to destroy, and she felt sorry for them. They were weak, and he always said that people were to be controlled, and not free. She disagreed, but never would she find the courage to tell him so.
This country that her captor wanted her to destroy sounded like the best place on Earth to live. It was a place where people moved freely, despite the fact that he told her that people should not, and this was one of the things that he could never convince her of.
He told her that people in this country should not be able to go where they wanted to go, think what they wanted to think, or do what they wanted to do, even if it were something as simple as choosing the book that they wanted to read. People should be controlled, he said.
These things made her want to be a part of that country, but where were they now? They were not here to save her, despite her prayers, and she prayed to every god that might possibly exist.
Today was her eighteenth birthday, or so he had told her, yet what good was it? Certainly, it would not buy her freedom, despite reaching womanhood.
After all of her efforts and pain, she saw only one way to hurt this man that had caused her such torment, and imprisoned her for so long. It was the path of a thousand steps, except she was the one to determine its destination. His plans for her were about to be as dead as she was to become.
One last time she ran her fingers across the edge of the blade, knowing that this time the blood that it would spill would be her own. She was ready, and though she was never able to kill him, she was certain that she could destroy his years of work.
"Fuck you!" she snarled as she sobbed, before plunging the knife into her own heart, which was what pulled her out of the dream that they had put, and Viper, for the very first time, looked upon the truth of what she was, from within her glass tube.
