Paradise

In response to Chuck Wendig’s flash fiction foolishness.

Mack sat next to Mutt and sighed. The dog responded in kind.

It was all either had left to do. And it wouldn’t be long before one or both couldn’t even manage that.

Oh, sure, they’d searched the island with visions of Robinson Crusoe and Lost in their heads, just knowing they had to find something. Anything. A deserted island couldn’t really be deserted of everything, could it? Mack had even had fitful dreams of the island in Life of Pi, which mostly served to remind him he’d buried himself in too much fantasy and not enough survival guides. Still, there wasn’t even a man-eating tree on the patch of sand they’d washed upon.

Mack and Mutt had spent countless hours along the shore, clinging to the rocky outcrop a hundred yards out, staring into an ocean seemingly devoid of life. It wasn’t even that they were too bad at hunting to eat, neither ever saw anything to hunt.

The coconut palm growing out of a patch of grasses had been snapped in half by a storm. Maybe an angry giant. Didn’t matter either way. It was yielding no coconuts. It’s heart was withered and nearly black with mold or spores or bugs. Whatever it was, it tasted like death, so Mack couldn’t bring himself to do more than sample it.

Snakes, spiders, and even roaches were missing. Mack was fully aware of his limitations as a gatherer, too, but when even Mutt had given up looking for crawling, growing, or even recently-deceased food, Mack knew it was over.

In the end, food would do them no good. An island with no discernable source of fresh water was destined to be a death sentence.

Thus, they were seated under the remains of the one tree, waiting for death.

Mack looked over at Mutt and tried to imaging feasting on the scrawny little brown terrier-looking creature. It was no good. He couldn’t eat his last friend. And what good would it really do?

Mutt looked up at Mack, perhaps considering the same thing but in the end put his head on his paws and whimpered.

Two days later, the rains came. Acid rains that burnt the leathery skin of the freshly dead, broke down the course fur, and left puddles in the sand.

Creatures, deep brown with wicked teeth and skinny tails, crawled out of the depths of the sand and set to work on the bodies.

There was much feasting and mating to do before the rains stopped again.

Paradise (medium-dry, fruity after-dinner drink)

• ¾ ounce gin
• ¾ ounce apricot brandy
• ¾ ounce orange juice

Shake together with ice and strain into a cocktail glass.