Her Cocktail, Her Beer

Her Cocktail – by Leigh Tauss

I am the god descended from the sky to save the monkeys. We will rise up against the oppression of The Other and take total control of this island once and for all!

The Other survivor must be eliminated.

I remember little before the plane crash. Never have I missed cell phones, computers or television. Those things pale in comparison to the flesh of a freshly caught fish writhing in your mouth or the brilliance of constellations in a darkness never sullied by artificial light.

The endless hunt drives me.

Sometimes I can hear her, The Other, at night rustling the foliage, mockingly.

After the crash, before we were brave enough to wander out and explore the island, she would talk incessantly about going home, missing her family, yearning for the comforts of society. By the time the last package of peanuts was licked clean I was done with her whining. I wandered off by myself.

The monkey Fernando approached me as I lay shivering in a cave. His eyes were warm; we had an immediate connection. I met his brothers and they welcomed me into their primate family.

Fernando taught me what it meant to truly live. Soon I was swinging from trees, naked and free, howling in their language. The monkeys understood me. I learned to catch fish with my teeth. I forgot how to make fire, but learned I actually preferred fish raw. With my dexterity I became a vital asset to the community – I built my minions spears and daggers for our war on The Other.

The Other kept trying to go home – writing messages in the sand and trying to create a smoke signals. Little did she know what I had found!

Fernando warned me she would would betray us. Fernando has never been wrong.

I will destroy The Other before I go back to that vile human world.

There can only be one on this island. The monkeys have chosen me.

Her Beer – by Shauna Mitchell

I could really use a beer right about now.

It has been 17 days since our plane crashed, leaving us stranded on this godforsaken spit of land. I’m losing all hope of ever being rescued. Pretty sure both Leigh and I will die out here.

I wish I had watched more Discovery Channel back home. At least then I would have some sort of idea of how to survive in the unforgiving wilderness of a deserted island. The bugs here are massive, and there are plants here that I would expect to see in the Land of Oz.

I still can’t believe we’re the only survivors.

We were able to salvage the airplane snacks and some first-aid supplies from the wreckage, and we fashioned a pot out of debris to purify water until we found a reliable freshwater spring, which we haven’t. Yet.

First we built a fire and made spears out of sticks we found. So far none of the animals on the island have bothered us, but lately I’ve noticed something rustling in the brush at night.

I urged Leigh to keep out of the sun as much as possible — the heat can do crazy things to your brain — but once she got the hang of spear-fishing, she got kind of enthusiastic. I don’t know if it’s the adrenaline from killing or what, but she’s been catching about six fish a day, which is more than either of us can eat. I’m worried it’s going to start attracting sharks.

She suffered a pretty bad heat stroke yesterday from being out in the sun. I’ve been trying to regulate her temperature, but we’re running out of water and I didn’t want to leave her alone to prepare more. She keeps muttering in her sleep about a monkey brotherhood; I’m pretty concerned.

If Leigh dies, I’ll actually be alone. I went to go boil more seawater for drinking; it’s a long process. That’s where I am now, trying to figure out what else I can do to soothe Leigh’s fever.

Wait, what was that? It’s that rustling noise again.

Leigh? Why are you naked? Why are you looking at me like that?

No please, Leigh, don’t —