Soundtrack: Brand New Day - Ryan Star (The acoustics are the good ones)

LAST REGRETS

The time I spent there was pretty tough.

What I went through... Well, it wasn't nice - and let's just keep it at that for now, shall we?

However as much as things might have gotten ugly and the simplest things such as eating a proper meal would turn into a struggle for survival; I did my best to adapt. If there is anything Darwin taught me in science, it is that survival is simply for the fittest, and although that was not much of a motivating quote those days when I laid motionlessly in the sand, too hungry to do anything, it is still a fact, and it was enough to keep me going the next day.

The boat did have some food, but what had not rotted within the first days out in the heat, was devoured foolishly by me in a moment of desperate hunger.

However I did climb into the boat regularly trying to gather new resources that were useful, and despite the sustained amount of bruises and scratches I had gathered from the stunt; I guess you could say that I was pretty loaded on proper equipment now. While the food was gone, I had still gathered all the water bottles, and soon enough I had found a source of drinking water further into the island, which I had marked off with some post it notes I had hung up on the trees near it so it would be easier for me to return when necessary.

The post it notes where used for more than just that, however. While the yellow meant water, the pink ones meant food - though at first what the pink ones really meant was teasing. Various times when I had stumbled through the woods, I had passed a clearing where a Sow was nursing her pigglets. I did not have the heart to touch them at first, yet the hunger soon kicked in and only days later when I found them again I pounced. They ran off, all of them, shrieking as if they had seen death itself, though they kind of had for a second there.

However when I later that same day passed by again they had returned to their mossy green landscape. I didn't bother attacking. I was exhausted from the day, and since I hadn't managed catching them the first time, I doubted the second try would be any better. Instead I placed the pink post it notes on the trees near by, as I returned to the ship wrack, and the next day when I gathered more equipment from the boat, I got a steak knife as well.

I knew very well that knife throwing is possible, however violent gestures had never really been my thing. With a lot of caution I attempted to toss it a couple of times, my fingers curling tentatively around the handle before launching my arm forward. I squealed and backed up when I released the knife, despite it not being directed at me in the slightest. Instead it flew in the left direction, spinning a couple of times in jagged circles as it made its way toward the ground, landing in the sand with an impact that sent both sand and the knife bouncing off of the ground.

The following throws caused a frown to etch upon my face at my lack of progress. Back at home I was always making progress, always improving, finding yet another thing I was great at. This was an entirely foreign area for me however. Yet I refused to give up as I approached every possible way of throwing an object. I threw the knife as if it was a Frisbee and a basketball - both of which caused me to scramble backwards out of fear that I might get cut by the blade. At the back of my mind, another thought came to the surface, one I had dismissively rejected to try.

I closed my eyes as I angled my right arm behind my head, my wrist slightly bent as I firmly pinched the handle between my fingers. In the darkness behind my eyes, I saw an entirely different scenario. I saw my dad brushing his light hair out of his eyes as he cheerfully stalked over to the four year old me, handing me the baseball and beckoning me to try again. I saw my nine year old brother grinning broadly as he for the first time in his life managed a home run at a game. I saw that same brother, three years later, standing in the back yard and practicing his swings frantically.

Back home he would always usher me out of the house, he would force the ball into my hand and convince me to throw it at him a couple of times. He was frantic when it came to the sport, it only grew with the years. Baseball was all he was, and when I was forced to stand on out porch, tossing it repeatedly at him; it became part of me too.

My eyes remained shut. I forced myself not to open them, out of fear that the tears I'd been holding in would escape. I could not handle it if they did. I could not take the pain, not now, when my main priority would be to make it off this island. Last now, mourn later, I told myself. With a heavy heart I heaved one breath after another, trying to calm myself, but not managing very well. I knew how to do this. I knew how to throw a baseball. But this wasn't a baseball, I thought. It was a god damned knife, one of those I would become way too familiar with using over the next couple of months. And at this point on; I was not yet sure if I could handle it.

However I knew that this was not the time or the place for me to debate my moral. I could not doubt myself know. It was just a pig. If that didn't die, then I would. Survival of the fittest, right? And with that thought at the back of my head I once again swung my arm forward and released the knife, my arm following through. It spun forward in a straight line this time, and although it was the but of the knife that hit the sand and not the tip, I was still pretty satisfied.

I walked over to where the knife was stationed in the sand and grabbed it, before following the post it notes as I made my way toward my target. The tool felt heavy in my hand as I walked, my conscious growing more weary with every step. As I closed in the distance to the hog and her piglets I felt the urge to run off and never return. I wished to leave them alone. I was well aware that killing the mother would leave the piglets alone and unprotected - just like myself.

Lost in my thoughts I stepped on a twig and it snapped beneath my foot, the sound alerting the mother who made a snort, her ears twitching. Inhaling shaky breaths my pace slowed down, and I finally stopped in my track about 12 feet away from the animals. I stood my ground, halfheartedly glaring at the mother. My body was half way hidden behind a tree as I raised my arm again. I clenched my eyes shut, not wanting to see what was happening next and tried to muster happy thoughts into my head as I positioned my hand behind my head.

I swung my arm back down again without hesitance, only regretting my action when I heard the squealing. My eyes reopened at the sound and I gasped at the sight of a piglet on the ground, shrieking hysterically, moving in frantic motions while being held down by the blade. It was every man for himself, I noted, as the mother ran past me, all the other small ones desperately scattered across the creepers, escaping me in long, swift strides.

The continuous noises from the small one brought me back to reality and I moved towards it, making shushing noises in return as if that would calm him down. His small eyes met mine for a second and my stomach clenched. Tears streamed from my eyes uncontrollably and this time I did not dismiss them. I knew that I should grieve. I did not want to lay another hand on the piglet, and clearly he did not want me to either, as for the fact that he would tense every time I reached out to him, and violently pull away despite the knife having sunken into his leg.

Despite his struggles my fingers curled around the handle, pulling it out of the pig and trying to ignore how it seemed like the bottom of his leg was dangling motionlessly from the rest of the limb. In spite of this, he furiously attempted to regain balance and started staggering away, his hind leg dangling behind. As he moved away from me -far from as fast as his siblings- he kept making odd noises, which I recalled as nothing but off.

Again, I did not want to touch him, to hurt him. I regretted my decision. In this moment of obscure pain, all I wanted was to leave him alone. He deserved none of what he had gotten so far, yet I was well aware that leaving him behind in pain was far from fair either. I knew I had to end it.

With shaking hands I reached out to the piglet, grabbing it in between my hands. It staggered to the side, stumbled and was left shrieking and kicking as it was captured within my firm hands. I avoided looking at it as I brought the blade up to greet it's throat, the cold metal sinking into the soft skin, and I felt the struggling creature growing limp in my arm as an warm substance ran down my arms and into my lap.

That was the first time I harmed another being, but it would not be my last. With a heavy heart and a warm corpse I left the clearing, retreating to the wreckage for the night.

'Just a pig,' I whispered to myself, nodding reassuringly as I repeated the words over and over. 'It is only for survival.'

The walk back to the ship seemed to take all the time in the world, yet I did not want to return. I did not want to face the remnants of my cabinet from the boat, which I had gotten out the day before and was using as fire wood. I did not want to sit in the sand and light a fire, or stab a stick into the body of the piglet and fry him on the fire.

In the end I had no choice. I had to do what needed to be done, and as much as I did not want to, I knew that after going to such lengths to kill the poor thing, I couldn't just waste the meat.

The meal was lonesome and hollow, and despite my stomach being full in the end, my body was only noticeably more stiff from the long days that had gone by. The sun was sinking into the horizon and the moon appeared soon after. In the dark I glanced over at the fire. I had not fed it any more wood and as a result the flames were dimming out, yet still strong enough to keep me warm. I decided that tomorrow might be a good time to start a fire. If anyone saw it, they would come get me. And I could go home.

But my family was dead.

And as far as I knew, I no longer had a home.

I wrote the entirety of this today. Normally I never publish the story the same day, but take another couple of days to read through it, but I have just desperately wanted to publish something for a while, and I had pizza for dinner, so I was super encouraged. xD And since my LOTF obsession has been renewed, I figured this was a story that needed an update. I am sorry about not having written anything here for a while, and for the update being pretty boring. I wanna thank everyone who might have actually bothered reading this again after all this time. For those people who are still reading; feel free to review as well! ;)

So, over to the girl. As you probably see she is currently having a bit of a struggle. So far you're really just getting to see how she is adapting to this new environment, her first grievings over her family and the lengths she has to reach for her to survive. It might be boring, I don't know, but I want a proper development of her as a person, so here it is. I can reassure though that when the boys arrive you will get more exciting chapters.

I am actually really excited about this story though, so I will definitely update more frequently. Especially since my semester is basically over I have no use of spending any more time procrastinating and so I assure you that if you read this now you won't have to wait so long for the next coupe of updates.

Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Stay tuned for more! :D