If only we were here to go fishing. Fishing is exciting, and its reward is so delicious that it catches your senses and envelops you in its delights. The exquisite taste of fish makes me love fishing, but what I attached to it is that it's in my genes, as my father could never get away from the shore and I will not either.

I loved the tree under which my father sat to weave our huge nets, my dad told me incredible stories. I could spend hours sitting there listening, but I preferred hearing his stories as we walked in the sand looking for the perfect place to fish.

Frantic shaking. I never want to leave home again. I want to cling to someone I love and never let go. My head is a forest and anxiety haunts me down in it over and over again. I’m a coward. Rachel called me brave, but I’ve endured this long because I’m a coward. Adventurers would kill to witness such horrors, and yet I can’t move a muscle. Dying isn’t quite as thrilling.

Should I try navigating this twilight hell, or should I dig a hole and bury myself alive? Either way, I get harmed. Either way, my chances of survival are slim to none. I think about this decision for years, but the only steps I take are to flee another attack. If I think of the predator, it emerges from the shadows. It feeds on the chaos of the forest, and the landmarks shift as I get lost in the undergrowth. I’m here for the taking, a meal that serves itself up for the slaughter. 

Perhaps if I burned down the forest, the chase would end, but then there would be no refuge for my dreams. They would all become extinct. You can’t restore something that has been demolished. Maybe I’m not a coward. Maybe that’s what the predator requires me to believe. But a sliver of hope shines like a water drop, hanging from a leaf. It catches my eye, and I realize there must be a source of life above the canopy.

We get to the shipwreck. The waves helped thrust our boat off the coast, out to sea. We were wet and sweaty. It was pitch-black. I wielded the sword to illuminate our way.

The ship bears a gaping hole on the side of it. It seems to have been shot through with a fireball. Did the dragon have something to do with this? I quivered. It’s much frostier here than it was on land. It’s covered in snow. The ship creeks all over.

The sword tugs at me. It knows where we should be looking. Titan waits for me to lead as Rachel sniffs out the deceased bodies. We need to bury them. I don’t know how we’ll get them back on shore with the tiny boat. She’ll come up with a plan. I discovered several boxes. They had to be in these. I’d be fortunate if they're all here.

By Cristina Collazo