A.N: And now we're in Arthur's version of Limbo. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own Inception or Stranger Than Fiction. If I find any more errors I'll eventually fix them.
Arthur had lived on his island for longer than he cared to admit. He didn't keep track of the number of days by carving dashes on a large rock or scoring lines in the bark of a palm tree- he didn't need to know the exact numbers. It had been years. He had been on his island for years.
Having been thrown into the sea from a great height, falling out of the sky and crashing into the choppy waves of the ocean during a storm, Arthur wasn't sure who had abandoned him there so long ago.
He didn't bother to think of why. It could have been any reason under the sun.
It was clear that whomever had abandoned him had wanted him to die- his pockets had been filled with rocks before he was thrown from what Arthur was certain was a plane, if the height from which he'd fallen was any indication. Then there was the whistling of the wind in his ears as he plummeted down into the dark waters, the sudden and bitter cold as he sank deep.
He wasn't sure how he managed it- his hands had been tied with rough rope, he'd barely managed to undo the knots and fish the rocks from his pockets, breaking the surface to take gasping breaths tinged with salt, just treading water.
Once he'd made it to the island his only concern had been survival.
And he'd kept on surviving.
After his first night on the island had been spent huddling under generously leafy trees, the first blessedly sunny morning had been spent collecting objects that had drifted into the shallows, maybe dropped from the plane after him or the remains of some other wreck on the water.
He'd gotten a bottle of water, a ball of wax coated twine, and a Swiss Army Knife. He didn't believe his luck but wished he'd had access to a hatchet so he'd be able to harvest more wood to build something sturdier than a lean-to shelter.
Once some of the wood and twigs he'd collected had dried in the sun, he'd built a fire.
He'd discovered the sources of water on the island, finding a small stream that he'd have to boil the water from to avoid parasites and infection. The food was limited- there were coconuts, seaweed growing close to shore, and fish that darted through the water in the shallows.
It wasn't the Ritz, it wasn't a vacation. But on the first day Arthur was sure that even though he might not be found, he'd at least manage to stay alive while trapped.
After being stuck there for years, Arthur developed a routine.
He'd wake before the sun rose, emerging the from the shelter he'd made from fallen logs and branches, rising from the bed of soft leaves and plants he'd collect as needed every week or so. His clothing had been become tattered during his stay on the island- the shirt had been cut into strips for bandages, his slacks had been torn when he was spearfishing, forcing him to make the slacks into shorts. His shoes had been ruined in the water.
His years on the island had turned his skin a nice healthy tan. His near constant exercise and physical labor kept him strong and fit, though his joints ached, showing his age. His diet, heavy on the fish he caught or the coconuts he'd harvested, was sometimes supplemented by the godsends of floating foodstuffs from a shipwreck.
Sometimes these gifts would float in on the morning tide.
Arthur would watch for the sunrise and wait to see if anything had washed up on the shore.
Today he noticed something in the shallows...
Something odd.
Arthur stood and brushed the sand from his legs, stretching and going to investigate.
What he found when he got there was honestly perplexing. It- it was a person!
He'd never found a dead body on his beach before!
It was probably a strange assumption to make, but Arthur hadn't seen any living soul for years. He'd grown older on his island, not seeing anyone living or dead in all the time he'd been stuck there. So sue him for wanting something out of the ordinary to happen.
Curious, Arthur knelt beside the body and examined it. He'd gotten as far as noticing that the person was male and had chosen a godawful shirt to wear before he'd met his end, noticing that the shirt was something paisley, when the dead man grasped Arthur's ankle and hung on like he was frightened that the ocean was going to rip him off the shore!
Arthur was stunned and moved to defend himself, possibly by braining the not-so-dead man with a nearby rock, when the man coughed up seawater and looked up at him. His face was speckled with sand and he blinked at Arthur before saying, "I knew it, I knew I was right!"
And then the man's grip on Arthur's ankle loosened and he was unconscious again.