Utile

A tale of desparity, sin, lust and paradise gone wrong.

Sunrise. Jean wakes up with a clump of sand coating his mouth. His baby blue shirt in tatters. His silk trousers torn into shreds. The mousy tight hair that curls, normally shines proudly in the sun appears mangled and patches of it lie in the palm of his hands. Completely confused at the state of himself, he rises. As he places pressure onto his right foot and his hands, in the sand, his ankle gives way and he howls at the pain made by the fracture. 

His scream echoes out into the teasing palm trees. The air chills as he grapples with the sand. Tired and extremely fatigued, He slams his fist into the ground at the pure frustration of it all. 

'Putin!' 

It has been 27 hours since Jean arrived at Tromelin. Twenty of it sleeping and seven swimming to the eerie island. He notices a half-drunk open coconut and a worn banana leaf blanket aside from him. Absolutely stunned and parched, he takes every chance and gulps every droplet down, licking the insides and working his dry tongue around the soft, white flesh. He does not give a damn about the warning procedures that his governor taught him about exotic fruit. His pointless life would not amount to anything now anyway. 

He suddenly realises that the intricate weaving of the banana leaf blanket is not of his own creation. He had never known how to sew or knit, let alone cross weave. Besides, he was a captain, a highly technical officer in Bayonne. A well-respected 30-year-old man with plenty of skills to survive in any tropical environment. Or so he thought.

 

'Hallo!' As loud, as his voice would allow, which was not very loud, he called out to any survivors. Maybe Baptiste or Franco followed his orders for once and took care of him while finding help. He scans his eyes around the island for any signs of life. His eyes caught life, and death at the same time. A decaying mess laid a couple of meters away from the shore, the hair straddled and forcefully pulled away from the skull, most probably maggots hungry for flesh. He notices the rare badge of honour wrapped proudly around the left arm of the carcass. There was only one man out of 122 sailors in the Utile who could wear the badge. Chevalier. Now there was no hope. 

'Ahh mon frère! Mon petit frère!' Jean weeps and crashes onto the bed of the sand. 

Out of the waving palm trees are four olive tanned feet. They patter treacherously, not wanting to disturb the grieving sailor. The sailor senses the cool shade of a shadow and looks up. He looks up to see a man and a woman completely barren from clothes, gazing at him curiously, wondering what he is doing. 

They both stare at each other in awe of the alien features they admire. The man and the woman looked perfect side by side. They appeared to be a blend of various cultures around the world. The slight saffron/chocolate tint of Asia, the roasted coffee colour of Africa and the cream of Europe. Jean thought of how perfect they looked. How they maintained this complexion in such tropical weathers is merely impossible. Their eyes were identical to one another, oval shaped and matching azure blue to the sea. The man’s hair is a beautiful golden brown with natural streaks of blond from the suns strength of lustre. 

Both are unaware of the simple fact that they cannot talk to each other. Jean tries to introduce himself. "J'ai m'appelle Jean de la fargue. Que s'est-il passé?'

The man and the woman look at each other, confused by the incomprehensible speech that comes from Jean’s mouth. 

‘Anglais ?' He tries again to find out how to communicate to these foreign people. 

'English yes.' The woman replies.

'What happened?'

'We are not sure. You arrived on the island yesterday unconscious.'

'What?' 

'You were sleeping' the man interrupts 

'Where am I?'

'Tromelin Island'

A red foot boobie spreads its wings out from the bush behind and glides across the ocean. Jean closes his eyes. His mind races through a series of explanations, just one reason. He tries to replay scenes in his mind. The storms, leaving India, all so fragmented, chaotic.

‘How do I leave?’

‘You are hurt, you should rest it before-‘

‘You can’t leave.’ The woman’s soft voice interrupts and hits Jean hard.

‘What do you mean I can’t leave?’

The man and the woman begin to carry Jean over their shoulders. Jean is completely sceptical of the helpful strangers. There had been stories in the barracks about Island’s like this where sailors are seen as a banquet from their Gods.  It was told they would help to restore and fatten a sailor before devouring every last meat. Hundreds of sailors have disappeared into the Indian Ocean, never to return. Jean had thought he had become another statistic.

‘Actually I think I should stay here, my governor will come for me,’ He states as he slips his arm away from their shoulders.

‘Well we shall wait for him to come then.’ Says the man.

‘No, there is no need.’ He pleads, hopping around on his left foot

‘But it is almost sunset, it is not safe for you to stay on your own,’ Adds the woman.

The clouds have gathered and hidden the sun, although the sky maintains its brightness. To the east peeps the moon; poking its omniscient glow dangerously.

Jean feels no choice but to allow the man and the woman to stay with him, besides he thinks, his governor just may rescue him.

For what Jean feels like hours, twenty minutes have passed and no one has spoken. Jean glides his fingers over the sand, writing ‘hope’ in French over and over.  Every so often, he peers up; stretching his neck to see the horizon, hoping the fluorescent orange lifeboat cascades onto shore and his governor’s familiar face thrills him.

‘Where have you come from?’ The woman speaks and both of the men’s eyes dart to her.

‘France.’ He looks back down, still gliding his index finger over the pebbles

‘Where is this?’

‘In Europe.’

‘What is it like?’

‘Nothing like this.’ Jean sternly replies and throws the pebbles into the shore and the water swallows it into the ocean floor.

‘I really think we should head to the hut,’

‘The hut?’

‘Yes, our home is only through the trees over there,’ the man points to the darkening forest behind.

‘No, just a little while longer.’ Jean responds. Jean knows that every second he is sat on this island threatens his chances of freedom. He needs an escape plan fast. The combination of the strange humidity and the frustration of him desperate to leave however prick his mind with poison. Are these genuine citizens who want to help? Or are they covering something up? He shakes his head of his bewildering thoughts.

The silence of the waves crashing against the rocks is broken by a single cry. Jean shoots his head up and attempts to stand to get a clearer view of the horizon. The man and the woman look at each other worryingly.

The man urges ‘Please, we must leave now,’

Jean ignores the request and limps further towards the ocean. A single boobie falls through the clouds and lands on the decaying body. It begins to inspect what is left of it and pecks it’s thick, hard beak at the eyeball of Chevalier.

The dry squidgy ball splits at every pick. The boobie clearly hungry wolfs the eyeball down and makes its way through the skull, hollowing the shapeless frame.  

Jean’s disbelief turns quickly into a fireball of rage.

‘You B*****D! Don’t touch him!’ Jean scoops a ball of sand and pebbles at the boobie, blinding it and it cries out for help.

‘Please! Stop you don’t know what you are doing!’ the woman yells and cusps the man into her arms.

Jean appears dishevelled at the sight of his companion shredded to pieces before his eyes.

‘Leave…Him-ALONE!’ He scoops another handful of sand, as he drops to the ground the sand seeps through his fingers, like the sand falling through a sandglass.

Out in the atmosphere, the same cries from the boobie echoes multiple times, all at different time frames and speeds, some low and many high pitches. The air vibrates with the sound of wings flapping at 120 miles per hour.

The man calls out to Jean ‘Please come with us now!’

Jean turns ‘What is going on?!’

‘You’ve angered the boobie! Quick! They can’t see from the forest, we must go now!’ The man and the woman turn their back on Jean, for him it feels not quite right, considering they stayed with him all this time. He surrenders and follows up behind.

Not before a giant boobie swoops in and pecks Jean from his neck. Tapping and pulling at his ears, it picks up its speed like a woodpecker furiously until blood appears from the nape of his neck. Jean yowls out in alarming pain, each tap pinching his skin. Jean has no strength to fight back and collapses face down into the sand.

The woman rushes over to Jean and pulls his arms and begins to drag him into the forest. But the persistent cries of the birds become louder and louder. The man runs and grapples onto Jean’s left arm and both drag him as quickly as possible over the black gulf of birds targeting them from the navy night sky.

‘Aghh!!’ Jean pulls free of the woman and slaps his arm into the bird. The bird drops and writhes in agony. Jean picks himself up and throws himself into the forest, while the man and woman ramble into the moss green weeds that begin the forest.

 

The man, woman and Jean settle well further into the trees, so far deep the soothing sounds of the waves only ring inside their minds like a distant memory.

The floor is rough with spiteful stones moulding into the bums and the dry mud taints the already tattered clothes of Jean. The man and the woman however still appear to be clean. They crouch over the smouldering heat of a fire set up by the man. Jean is stunned, his eyes are glued to the fire, purely exhausted at his poor attempt to maintain his life without any prospect of surviving in these conditions.

“Why are you helping me?” Jean says, his eyes still glued to the fire.

“We simply cannot leave you out there knowing you are alive Espoir” The man returns.

“What?”

“You were writing Espoir into the sand, is it not your name?” The man and the woman both look to him through the blazing flames.

“No, it means-it’s not my name.”

“You must be famished.” The woman adds.

“Where is your hut?”

“It is through the trees on your left, but it is too dark to search for it now, we shall sleep here tonight and when dawn comes, we shall find it.” The man declares

“Are you the only ones who live here?”

“We are. We feel we were sent here from nature to care for the island. Protect it from harm.”

“Hm” Jean ponders throughout all of this today, they would have fed him copious amounts of food and eaten him by now, he reconsiders his feelings towards the man and the woman.

“I was in a ship with sailors looking for an island.”

“Which one?” The woman enquires.

“Madagascar”

“What were you going to do there?”

“We were on our way to sell some goods, some slaves.”

“What are slaves?”

“We sell people to people for their labour.”

“Why?”

“Because it is a business.”

“But people have no physical value, we are all priceless.”

“Pfft.” Jean has already had enough of the woman’s voice and walks over to a thick yellowing tree. The tree appears to be different to the others. There are multiple barks which slide and wraps itself around all the way to the floor. The fire spits out and tinges Jean’s leg. Above the tree are large, flowering leaves. Clumped together are pale green ripe, round fruit.

Jean helps himself and reaches over for one lustful red fruit, shaped similarly to the others, but with a twinkling shine. 

“We have shellfish and turtles ready in the morning to eat.” The man cheerily states.

Jean ignores his suggestion, “You want some?” Jean offers the fruit to the man

“I don’t think that you should eat it.”

“Why, is it poisonous?” Jean inspects its figure. The curves are perfect and reflects the flames flawlessly around the dome shaped head.

“No, we just don’t believe in eating food that hasn’t been provided to us by our Gods.”

“What do you mean? There is no one else to give it to.” Jean rubs the fruit onto his tattered shirt, the fruit clearly doesn’t need any more shine but he does this to reconsider the man’s response. Meanwhile the woman’s eyes follows Jean’s direction with the fruit.

“I mean, he is right.” The woman perches up and walks over to Jean.

“No. He is not.” The man sternly replies.

“So you are telling me, that this big old tree with all this fruit on it, would be a bad thing to eat it even though we are hungry?” Jean carries the fruit to his lips, he licks it ready to devour. Regardless of what the man was going to say next, Jean would still eat the fruit.

“We are hungry, I’m sure they would understand.” The woman adds.

Jean crunches into the first bite of the fruit. It becomes hard and sweet and mushy all at the same time. The juice drips off his mouth and he licks it off before it becomes sticky and dry. He offers the woman and she nurses it into her hands. She stares at the fruit and looks at the man. The man rises and stands in front of the woman.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” The man raises his eyebrows at her.

“Yes, nothing has happened to him.” The woman digs her teeth into the fruit, the juices also slipping away from her tongue. Her taste buds are overwhelmed with delight and she takes another bite. Her teeth grind and gnash. She closes her eyes and breathes in a euphoric state at the dense flavours of the fruit. The man reluctantly takes a bite too, also overwhelmed by the essences of nature. He takes another bite.

“See, nothing.” Jean collapses back by the fire.

There is a silence between the man and the woman. The fruit then drops and smashes on the ground hard against the hollow earth. The man and the woman’s eye’s start to dilate rapidly and fall into a trance. The woman glares over at Jean and mumbles “run.”

“Huh?”

“Run! Save yourself!”

 

Author's Note

all comments are appreciated and will be returned!

Reviews

[Sayuri Siren]

I know that Boobie is a bird, and I know this makes me sound very immature, (What am I talking about? I am immature!) but every time the word "Boobie" popped up, I couldn't help but picture an actual tit. Of course, this added a sense of hilarity for me. One of these days, I swear I'm going to yell out "You have angered the boobie!" whenever someone does something breast related.

This aside, I really liked this story. Once I got into it, I couldn't stop reading until the end. The story is very intriguing and the plot is unique. I would like to know where it goes from here. So far, this story is generally well-written and there are no major flaws that I can point out. Just keep doing what you are doing and this should turn out to be great.

I felt I knew all of the characters personalities, even though this story is relatively short. So far this is a well-rounded story. I'm glad I gave it a read. It entertained me, which is what stories are meant to do. Good job!

The only real problem is consistent grammatical errors.

~With Love, Sayuri

[umeus]

you have managed to use both two top cliché openers - sunrise and waking up
can't get over this threshold at the moment
I will get back to it

[Alex Falkner]

This was very interesting, I enjoyed it a lot.
I do have to say however, I am disappointed it's not a book, I would love to know what happens next, the ending was brilliant.
You're a good writer, keep it up.

Tammy.

[Viccy Rogers]

Very action packed! A lot happens in this, it you could maybe describe the scenery and the character's feelings in greater detail so make sure the reader can get a vivid picture of what is going on. You have great use of speech and the storyline is interesting. Great so far!:)