Island of Misfit Toys

I wring my hands tightly as Vanessa speaks. The blood rushes to my fingertips turning them to a deep vermillion. The shade of red you see when you’re a kid having a contest to see who can hold their breath the longest and your competition’s face shows pure hunger for oxygen. A shade of red common among noses during the present season while the snow falls and people are filled with glee.

“It’s not that you’re a bad boyfriend, it’s that I’m not able to be a good girlfriend for you, Chris,” she says with a croak.

Her eyes filled with water. It was as if she was holding a shotgun. I’m on the other side and I’m the dog that she felt the need to put out of his misery. She knows it’s going to hurt but she feels she has to do it.

“Where is this coming from? We just had a nice dinner. We talked and laughed the entire time and now you’re deciding it’s just not working?” I say accusingly while trying to avoid letting my voice raise too much. If I can save this relationship I’d rather not have to apologize for yelling.

“Christian, stop! You know it’s not as sudden as that. You can’t tell me things haven’t felt a little different between us the past few months,” she says almost talking down to me as if I’m a child being reprimanded for doing something he’s already been scolded for doing many times.

I forgot about my hands until that moment. I have to let go cause they feel like they’re about to pop. I put my hand on hers and she slowly pulls it away and gives me a pitiful look. This is the moment she pulls the trigger on her loyal companion. The dog who stood by her in sickness and in health. Through every hard day of work and every snuggly Sunday. She craves the release and the freedom. She knows that in a week or so she can stop crying and she’ll feel herself again. But what about me? The one who doesn’t have a choice. The cruel reality is that if I am like her dog, she’s not putting me down. She’s packing me up in the car and driving to a place far from her house. She’s stopping at the side of the road and letting me out. Driving off as it starts to rain.

“I need this… I need us to be over,” she says with a release of tears and sobs.

That’s when instead of feeling hot in the room it turns ice cold. The hairs stand up on my arms. I feel weak. It’s as if all the marrow has been drained from my bones. I get up from the seated position I was in on her bed and begin to pace around the room with my hands on my head trying to breathe through the tears.

“Vanessa,” I say calmly but clearly choked up, “that was 1 year and 5 months I can never get back. 1 year and 5 months of eating meals with you,” I say as my voice gets progressively more agitated. “1 year and 5 months of planning for the future, naming non-existent children, and dreaming up a home. 1 year and 5 months of unconsciously spending money no matter the cost cause you were worth that much to me! God knows how many months you weren’t feeling anything at all for me!” I yell and then throw myself onto her wall and start bawling.

Her bookshelf next to me rattles and a few trinkets fall. I turn around slowly and slide to the ground still crying. She looks at me as she cries more. I can’t tell if she’s genuinely sad or if she’s worried I’m less mentally stable than I am and thinks I’ll go on some revenge spree on her. She should know me well enough to know she’s not the first to do this to me, I’ve made it before. But that’s exactly why it hurts so damn bad. It’s happened again.

She and I lock eyes. I told her how beautiful her eyes were the day I met her and I continued to do so for the past year and a half. But right now those eyes are burning holes in me. She pouts a bit more, almost to a point that looks exaggerated. I know that it means she thinks I should go but I know it will be the hardest part. I get up and grab my overnight bag, packing away the few items that I had gotten out like my phone charger, the movie we were going to watch(I was going to show her Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind), and my wallet. I go for the door but she gets up and wants one last hug. Did she want to suck the last bit of my life out of me? Did she think just like that we were friends?

I feel the knot in my stomach tighten and tighten as she leads me to the door. I turn around and watch as she closes it. Our eyes lock one more time and then all I’m staring at is her burgundy door. I changed my mind about leaving her, the steps down the stairs are the hardest. After the first three steps I wondered if I should go back and beg. Beg her that maybe she’d take back the already shattered shell of a person that I was. I knew better. I had to walk away with what little pride I had left.

Once I left the building the cold chill hit me. My blood was still cold from the confrontation so the chill merely evened the temperature of my skin with my innards. The trek to my car felt like it’s own journey. Every trudge leaving the indent of my lonely footsteps in the snow. I see the prints of a once happy couple going the opposite direction.

I felt weak. The emotions had drained all the life out of me.The ice around my car’s door handle cracked and shattered as I used what little strength I had left in my body to crouch into my tiny coupe. I turn the ignition and simultaneously slam my head into the steering wheel. How long had she planned this? Was any of it real? How long until she finds someone else? All questions that if I knew the answers to I’d probably be even more of a basketcase.

I buckled my fraying seat belt and turned the heat on all the way in an effort to thaw myself out. I hit shuffle on my music. I didn’t care what music came on. I just knew I needed to get home. I pulled out of the parking lot and began my trail of tears. I had a 45 minute drive and it was only going to get colder as the night progressed. The interstate was always extra packed when it snowed. I figured it was probably safer to take the backroads if I’m gonna have tears in my eyes the entire time. I pass the ramp onto the interstate and enter the snowy country roads. The winding roads seemingly writing my story in cursive across the land.

The heat was finally circulating through my tiny capsule of crisis. This car had gotten me through multiple breakups at this point. I wouldn’t be surprised if the stain on my center console was from the giant snot bubble of a past breakdown. Right on cue Bonnie Raitt’s “I Can’t Make You Love Me” decides to come and torture me. I watch as the lines separating the lanes whizz by the corner of my windshield but something catches my eyes on the glass. It’s a heart that had been drawn on with the sweat of a finger during the summer months. The heart that had circumscribed itself around my life. The heart that lied. I stare down the phantom heart or rather it stares me down.

That’s when I feel myself start to skid. My tiny metal capsule moves laterally to the right. I crank the wheel into the skid like I was always instructed to do but I was going too fast. My brakes fought against me, clicking with every push of the pedal. I turn to look to my right and I see the thin metal guard meeting to kiss the side of my car. For a split second the railing seemingly absorbs the machine and cradles it for just long enough for me to gaze down into the ditch below.

The free fall and spinning began almost simultaneously. I spiraled down like a football mid-Hail Mary pass down field. My head swaying from side to side like Newton's cradle. It was a tree that brought my tumble to an end. The force broke my decaying seatbelt and launched me out of the car as if I had an ejector seat. In midair I saw the pillowy snow that I was being catapulted towards. I closed my eyes and braced myself for the sting of the cold against my face.

The freezing rush never reached my skin. I felt something soft and malleable but it wasn’t snow. I thought this must have been it. I was bleeding out and the shock was making me numb. I soon realized that was not the case when I felt a wave of liquid water board me. I rolled over. I was on the beach.

The soft cushion that broke my fall was the damp sand of the shore break. I get up still in my winter attire and survey my surroundings with a million questions flying through my mind, the most obvious of which was; how does one wind up at the beach after driving through the freezing Midwest? There’s a screen of greenery behind me that obstructs any view on what was on the opposite side of the beach. I crouch down in the water and wash the mask of sand off that I can feel on my face. When I put my hands back in the water I see blood floating away from my fingers like smoke from a bundle of wood just about to ignite. What is going on? Was I dead? Is this the afterlife? Or had I dreamed the entire day and I would wake up next to Vanessa?

This can’t be right. It felt like something out of Lord of the Flies or Robinson Crusoe. Like I had been stranded. I need answers.

When I turn back around there’s a small hut sitting just on the entrance to the forest that was not there before. I was drawn to it. Something told me it would hold answers. I walk towards the hut. As I walked I began to convince myself that the latter situation I had mentioned had to be true. I must have fallen asleep in Vanessa’s arms while we watched Jim Carrey and Kate Winslet in the blu-ray I had brought. This was all a dream. The breakup, the crash, and this entire seemingly serene island would disappear from existence when I woke up. I approach the hut and debate whether to knock or not. If this is a dream there are no consequences so I might as well walk right in. I would come to regret this.

When I open the door I’m greeted by a fully furnished home. It looks just like the average family’s home. The living room screams middle income family. It’s like I’m seeing the inside of the house of a sitcom. There’s no sand scattered all over the floor where you’d expect in a beach house. I look around and see a familiar pair of shoes on the ground next to me by the door. I have the same pair of slip ons for the summer. Hanging up next to the door are my car keys, the same surfboard keychain from my vacation to Florida last year dangles with the breeze coming from the door I had left ajar.

I hear a door close and footsteps briskly walking down the hallway to my right. A woman turns a corner holding a baby. It doesn’t take me long to notice the auburn hair and realize it’s Vanessa. She looks up from the baby and locks eyes with me.

“Oh, Chris! You didn’t tell me you’d be home early today,” she says with a smile. She approaches me and kisses me and hands me the baby, “Here take Lucy. I think she wants to see her daddy.” I look down at the baby and it just stares at me and slowly suckles on it’s pacifier. It’s gaze never wavering. She looks just like I had always imagined a child between me and Vanessa looking. She has the bright blue eyes I had when I was born, the dark hair Vanessa had, a small button nose, and her skin falling somewhere between my pale complexion and Vanessa’s golden skin.

I have a million questions to ask but don’t know what should come first. Did it really matter what I asked if it was a dream? It didn’t feel like a dream though it felt so real. I can feel the warmth of Lucy in my arms and I’m at peace.

“What’s wrong?” Vanessa asks. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” I look up from Lucy and look at her warm and welcoming face.

“Just had a bad dream last night I guess,” I can’t help myself and have to look back down at Lucy.

“Oh, this isn’t a dream Christian,” she says in a grave voice. She only ever called me that in situations where she was dead serious. I feel an oozing in my arms and see liquid dripping from Lucy’s swaddle. Her sweet little face begins to melt in my arms like hot candle wax. The weight of the baby becomes nothingness. I look up and the hut is empty.

The walls are bare and all furniture has disappeared. I turn to Vanessa and in her place is a bright figure. A figure almost like what most people imagine an angel would look like. It had no facial features besides a simple mouth and eyes.

Still stunned by having an infant melt in my arms I ask with a waver in my voice,“Who are you?”

“The more prevalent question is, who am I not,” it says with a calm voice. “I have no name. I am simply the manifestation of happiness, pain, anguish, and all things the human psyche can feel,” the figure looms closer to me.

“So you’re basically emotion?”

“No. I am only the emotions that truly affect the human psyche. The emotions that take over your mind and soul when they are felt. The emotions that are brought on by major events in one’s existence. I am here to watch and only that.”

“Ok, well why am I here?”

“Why wouldn’t you be here, Christian? It is your mind.”

“So this is a dream?”

“Not in the slightest. Here you have consequences. Here you will remember what has happened to you. Here for you right now in particular it could mean life or death.” The figure waves its hand and a pillar with screen rises up out of the ground. On the screen I see a hospital bed. It isn’t until after a few seconds I see the sandy blond hair of the person with tubes poking their body everywhere and realize that this is me.

“The crash was real. It was all real.”

“Unfortunately, yes. You are in a coma. Right now the doctors believe you have a 50/50 chance of coming out of it. Your physical body will stay like this. Here on this island your dormant feelings have created you must fight if you want to survive.” As she finishes a crash of thunder shakes the hut. I go outside and see a void of storm clouds rolling towards the beach. When I turn back around the hut and the figure are both gone. I head into the forest to find some sort of shelter before the storm arrives.

What did it mean by fight to survive? Were there threats on this island? Would they be average worldly things or things I create? It is my subconscious after all. It would make sense that nothing foregin to my mind could exist here. Just then the rain begins to pierce the clouds and pour down on me. Whatever it is I have to fight, will I have to kill it? Will it be something capable of surrender? My thoughts are interrupted when I find a cave amongst the many green jungle trees. That will do for a shelter for now.

When I enter the cave the downpour behind me reaches a monsoon level of intensity. I see a faint orange light coming from the back of the cave. It flickers in and out. It must be a fire. I walk towards the apparent flame and find a flight of stairs spiraling down carved into the cave. From below I hear a constant hum that sounds almost like throat singing. Whoever or whatever is making that noise may be who I need to fight to survive. I take small and slow steps down the staircase. I have to stop myself from holding my breath. I creep down the steps and the hum gets louder and louder while the staircase gets brighter and brighter from the flame. I can still hear the pellets of rain bombing the roof of the cave entrance almost forming a cadence.

I reach the bottom and I am in the middle of what seems like a coliseum. There is table with knives, swords, and blunt weapons. The stairs start moving behind me and absorb into the wall. Above me in the stands are hooded and masked figures that seem to be the origin of the throat singing. One hooded figure in a robe adorned with markings steps out from the middle of them. He waves his hand and the others cease their humming.

“Challenger. We have waited for your arrival. Before you is an arsenal. Choose your weapon wisely. You will face one who has experienced a similar pain to you. Then it shall be decided whether you have fought hard enough.”

I survey the table of weapons. There are plenty of sharp and easily lethal weapons to choose from. I don’t want to kill anyone though. There’s a plethora of non lethal options. If it’s in my head though that means they’re made up. I pickup the sword and the table sinks into the sand beneath me.

“Your challenger approaches,” the robed man says as he steps back. On the wall beneath the spectators a door begins to slide up slowly. The hooded men begin to chant this time in some sort of language that sounds like backwards speak. I get in a ready stance. I’d never held a sword before. I figured if I just used it like how they did in movies I’d get the hang of it. The door opens and I see another man walking out armed with a similar sword. He enters the arena and the chanting stops.

The robed man steps up again, “Challengers. Christian Fry and Daniel Andrews. You have both gone through grave circumstances. Today you are to fight for your right to survive and continue to live your life to its true end. May the universe have mercy on that who loses.”

A gong sounds. I begin to step towards Daniel calmly, “Hey listen man, I’m still confused as to what this whole thing is about but-” I am interrupted by him charging at me with his sword shrieking at me. Taken aback I still manage to block his first blow. I can tell he’s probably about as experienced with holding a sword as I am.

He comes at me again with the sword and I deflect this time our swords clashing together. The blades scrape against each other from the force and send sparks down to the sand. He sends a flurry of slashes my way. I jump back but he manages to knick the jacket that I never took off.

I can see the fury in his eyes. He looked depraved of human contact. It was as if he had been reduced down to a savage. I know that there’s no convincing this beast not to fight me. I execute my first offensive attack. I go for a swipe at his torso but he deflects and parries swinging at my legs. I jump over it.

I just have to wait until the raging bull exhausts himself and then play the offensive. I hold my ground as he strikes multiple times at my guarded pose. I absorb the blows in my weapon. Just a few more and NOW!

I parry his last attack and strike his hand knocking the sword out of his hand. The sword lands by the door Daniel entered through. He crumbles to his knees in defeat knowing the sword is too far from his reach.

“Good Christian. You have defeated your opponent. Finish the job and you will have been granted passage back to the physical world,” the hooded figure says. Mid sentence the voice changed to match the figure who had greeted me to this island.

“Finish the job? I’ve won! Why should I have to do anything more.”

“That’s not how this deal works,” the figure responds.

A hoarse voice speaks up, “Please.” I look down and it’s the voice of the rabid animal I had just tamed. “Please end it. It’s been so long. Please.”

The eyes that were just alight trying to destroy became eyes of sorrow and begging. I look down at the sword. Do I take this opportunity? It almost feels like the humane thing to do. I plunge my sword into the chest of Daniel. The puncture produces a bright light. No blood. The whole gets bigger and bigger consuming Daniel. Before his face disappears I see a smile form on his face.

I look up and the seats where there had been dozens of spectators are empty. I turn around and the bright figure stands behind me. It doesn’t speak a word, just puts its finger to my forehead. That’s when a bright light consumes my entire vision.

I start to smell cleaning supplies. I open my eyes to a tv on in front of me. I’m in a hospital bed. A nurse walks in and seems shocked.

“Oh my, you’re awake! Let me get the doctor.”

The doctor enters with big smile. “Well hello Mr. Fry! We were worried that you were never going to wake up. Your vitals have been good the entire time you were out so we were obligated to keep you up and alive,” he laughs.

“Wait, wait. Entire time? How long was I out?”

“Well, Mr. Fry, not a lot of people survive a crash like yours. So consider yourself lucky to have only been asleep for the past month.”

I can’t believe it. That felt like two hours at the most. Just then the nurse walks back in.

“Dr. Sanders, it’s the jumper in the room next door. He flatlined.”

The doctor shakes his head, “Damnit, call Mrs. Andrews.” He looks back at me, “I guess we can’t give everyone a happily ever after.”

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