Tap. Tap. Tap.

Jerc absentmindedly continued his tapping against the ground, his eyes set on the forest all around him. He could see something in the distance, but he wasn't sure what it was. Something he couldn't comprehend; something ordinary men would spend their lives on trying to decipher. But all they would discover is the harsh path of insanity, smooth but endless in its own aspect.

"Can you stop that?" a voice demanded. Impatience: the bane of a human mind. That was the only thing necessary to start a conflict.

"I could," Jerc responded, with a chuckle. "But I would? Not possible, I'm afraid."

"You should," the man said, through gritted teeth. Jerc raised an eyebrow at the continuation of his game. It was well done.

"Perhaps I will."

Jerc brought his fingers up and rested his flat palm upon the moist earth. Now he was bored, with nothing but baboons in his company.

"So," Jerc carried on, ambition having a clear presence, as he turned toward the man. "What led you here?"

The man narrowed his one visible eye, his hand dangling in front of his bent knee. He was truly a big behemoth, capable of killing the whole crew in a bare second. It would only take a tad bit of insanity for that to become reality.

"I was on the ship?" the man responded, confused. Of course he was confused. He had no purpose or brain; he was just a loyal lap dog. Pathetic.

"What led you to this island?" Jerc repeated himself, leaning forward in eagerness. He knew fate was what brought the crew here; fate was what killed the rest of the poor sailors. It was already written from the start. Nothing could be done, so it was best to accept that.

"I just arrived here, I guess," the man replied.

"So, fate?"

The man rubbed his nose and heaved his shoulders.

"I don't know what you're playing with this fate nonsense."

But Jerc did know what he was doing; he knew what he was playing with. It wasn't fire. It wasn't knives. Rather, it was a man's insecure shell of a mind.

"You were brought here to do one thing and one thing only." Jerc scooted over to the man, who contracted the presence in disgust, but didn't move an inch; however, Jerc leaned in right to the man's ear to usher a single word that was in every man's nightmare:

"Die."

"You have some nerve," the man quickly declared, standing up and taking deep breaths as his frantic eye darted around for a source of relief. There was none; he was cornered. "I'm here because there was a storm, and the ship was broken, and this island was discovered, and we have no choice but to do this, and..." He trailed off, tapping his boot rapidly. Just like Jerc's tapping earlier. The irony.

"I only speak the truth..." Jerc racked his brain for a name, a mere name. How could he have forgotten? It was just a name... he needed it for proper influence. Without it, all would be lost--

"Red. I thought you knew that, already," Red said, now facing Jerc with a new aura about him. He was now in control. He was casting a shadow upon Jerc, one that made men cower in their boots. Jerc was not one of those men, however; he would never cower at anything.

"Of course, I was just distracted," Jerc lied coolly, and stood up as well. His finger jabbed over to where the other sailor was--the weasel. "I think he's going to sabotage us. I think he's evil."

"Really now?" Red chuckled. "Him? He could do as much as stealing a coconut from us. And even then, it would only take a few moments before he would return it with a wave of apologies and pleas to be spared. Over a coconut!" He fell into a burst of laughter, bending over as well.

Now knowing he wasn't being watched, Jerc frowned and looked around him. There was a presence that should've been there but wasn't. Two, rather. The egocentric, boasting captain, and the dumb sailor. Where were they?

"Hm, there's two more to this party, is there not?" Jerc asked, as Red's laughter died off.

"One more, I'm afraid," Red corrected him, his voice quiet.

"How so?"

Silence.

"He's dead, isn't he?" Jerc guessed, clasping his hands together. So, the descent had already begun. "You'll be caught in due time, you know."

"It wasn't me, I swear--" Red retaliated, as if it were a plea.

"In that foolish captain's eyes, you are," Jerc cut him off, tilting his head back and forth as he began to think. "I don't care if it was you, some evil entity, the captain himself," he shot a glance at the sleeping weasel, "even the damn weasel! All that matters is that he's dead. There's no need to waste such time driveling about who did what, and why, and when."

Jerc faced the silent Red, a smile on his face.

"You could kill the captain, too--"

"It wasn't me!" Red burst, grabbing Jerc's shoulder. "I don't know why there's a knife wound, why--"

"You saw the body?" Jerc mused, and shook his head. "Your innocence cannot be that valid if you say things the murderer would know." Red removed his hand, fear wrapping around his heart.

"I was... curious... heard sound..." he sputtered, a hand now against the side of his head.

"Listen to me, and everything will turn out alright in the end," Jerc promised, then leaned his head over to Red's ear. He muttered two words that made the once-strong, bold and confident man shake in his boots. A pure coward was all he was now.

"I can't... it'll be fine--" Red whispered, more to himself.

Footsteps erupted in the distance that made Red fall dead silent and turn him into a ghost. It was the captain making his grand return. The orders would come, the reprimanding. Jerc do that, Jerc stay in the back, Jerc, Jerc, Jerc! He hated the man's guts! No command should give a common man such a flawed character!

"Be seated and let not one sound off your tongue," Jerc hissed, as Red obliged to his orders. He walked over to the weasel and nudged his side raised to the sky with his boot. "You, weasel, get up."

"Huh? Cap'n?" the weasel muttered, slowly coming to his senses.

"Yes, it be the cap'n," Jerc snapped, almost mocking the dialect.

The weasel sat up, rubbing his head and yawning. He was a type of man close to filth, and filth had to be eradicated. But sometimes, filth had to remain for the sake of the bigger picture.

"A sailor's dead," Jerc said, then turned around and walked to his position.

"Wha?" the weasel asked, his eyes now wide--an appropriate reaction. All was going well so far.

The captain appeared through the mess of trees, his face a shade more white than usual. He kept a book or something in the crook of his arm, like it was his very precious. It must've been quite important. Jerc wouldn't mind having such an item.

"The news, Captain?" 

The captain snapped to his senses once he was in the clearing. It was as if he had returned to reality.

"We lost on--"

"That's terrible news!" Jerc remarked dramatically, raising his hands up in dismay. "He was such a good man, that one! What cruel fate!" He could sense a pair of beaten eyes examining him, more so interrogating his soul. A smile flashed across his face once he had risen it to an unnoticeable angle.

"When?" the captain demanded, a hand hovering over his side. There was an object he had hidden, either a gun or knife. Maybe he was the one who did it. Maybe he had already gone down the path of insanity.

"Some time ago, I suppose." Jerc dropped his hands, his steely tone asserting command, as he glanced at the suspicious captain. "I woke up, with nothing but darkness around me. Not a soul was awake--but me. The breathing was shallow, the air was quiet; it was very peaceful." He snapped his fingers, which made the captain jolt awake and drop his book.

"Until a certain pounding filled the air. It was an odd rhythm that went like: Bong, bong, dun, dun dun..." Jerc hummed the made up noises, captivated by such a song. He was always distracted so easily.

"But--"

"BONG!"

Jerc snapped awake at the final sound that seemed to have come straight from his mind. His eyes widened in some amount of wonder; he felt alive.

"All went silent afterward. Nothing but the dominant chirps of insects, breathing of hopeless men, and despair in the air remained," Jerc continued, like he was enacting the scene at the very moment. "It had all ended in due time."

"Who... who?" the captain asked, his shaky hand hovering around his belt. He was sweating. He was fearful. He was finished. He had no order. He was no captain, but a common man.

"You," Jerc replied, pointing a finger at the captain in a slow, accusing manner, like a verdict of death had been declared by an unruly judge.

Jerc was the captain now.