For the most part, Sundays were pretty laid back as a kid. I remember playing video games, watching cartoons, and finishing up last-minute homework assignments like it was just yesterday. I had a few friends in school that went to church. Sometimes, I'd ask them questions about what they did there, and what it was like. I was intrigued to know more, but we never really worshiped any religion in my household. 

          I guess what I'm trying to say, is that if there really is a God amongst us—a higher power watching over—I need him more than ever right now.

          I press my hands up against my ears as hard as possible—to the point I can literally feel each and every bone inside me flexing in desperation. It just won't stop—the high-pitched ringing sound. I've been laying here on the beach for hours, drowning in my endless misery. Drowning to the point as if someone is holding my head underwater, my lungs no longer able to produce oxygen, leaving me with no choice but to endure the indescribable pain and suffering.

          My eardrums are about to burst—or already have—and I continue to go crazy. It's like I'm sleeping in a blanket of fresh snow—my whole body shivering like a leaf. I gruesomely listen to the metaphorical fingernails slowly running down the fictional chalkboard. Loud, deep screeches, making me quiver and cringe with disgust and agitation. My shoulders shrug up in disturbance, and my stomach cramps like the roots of a tree twisting in the soil.

          "Please!" I beg under my breath. "Make it stop!" But my words are nothing more than sniffled cries

          My eyes continue to sting like I've been drenched in tear gas. The more I scratch them to relieve the irritability, the worse the rashing becomes around the sockets. My entire body is restless, to the point it feels like I have thousands of little ants crawling all over my skin, the cold sweat pouring off me like I'm in a steam room. I have the energy to run a marathon, yet simultaneously obtain the drowsiness to sleep for days on end. It's such a horrible, confusing sensation, leaving me more baffled as to what's going on.

          Everything is starting to slowly fade away. It's almost like I'm having a spiritual awakening—an ego death. As if I ate a bag of magic mushrooms, and I can remember small, forgotten aspects of my life that took place many, many years ago. I randomly entertain a thought of the first time I went fishing with my dad. I can picture us driving down to the old spot he and his buddies used to catch salmon. He taught me how to cast the line out into the river, and would gently assist me on how to reel it back in. Obviously, I wasn't very good at it, but it was the fun times that mattered.

          I then fantasize about the bike my grandparents bought me for my seventh birthday. I absolutely adored that bike. It had bright red handlebars and colourful ribbons hanging from the back. I got my training wheels off a week later. I felt so free cruising on my own, my parents cheering happily for me as they chased behind, making sure I didn't fall. Those were such beautiful memories. I feel so grateful that I was able to experience a peaceful, joyous childhood.

          But there's another recollection I'm having as I continue to lay here suffering. It's about a person—someone who's been on my mind the last while. Remember Brad, along with his wife, Cindy? The hippie couple we met in the bar from Portland? They were the ones who told us about the island in general. The ones that persuaded us to come here, and we listened like the bunch of dumb-ass drunks we were that night. 

          Why? I've been asking that same question over and over. Did Brad and Cindy know about all the horrors this mysterious island had to offer? What possible motive could they have to make us suffer like this? They portrayed it like the perfect getaway, but in reality, it's a living fucking nightmare. This is an island of pain—an island of misery—and nothing more. It all happened because Shawn had to smoke that damn cigarette with Brad. Wow...there I go again, blaming others for my problems.

          But I feel a recent flashback coming on. Something that happened not long before we left for Vietnam a few days ago. It's so vague though, I can barely make it out. It takes all the concentration inside my mind to remember the events that took place. My head pounds from the ringing noise. I close my eyes even tighter, trying to place together the pieces of the puzzle in their correct spots of what had happened.

          .   .   .   .   .

          I'm standing alone in my apartment in Seattle. It's a bright, sunny day, and I can hear the birds chirping blissfully outside. I look up at the digital clock on the microwave—2:48 pm. I have just over an hour to kill before I have to be across town. I'm giving a tour today on the famous Seattle Space Needle—a landmark I have covered in many of my other tours in the past. It's a favourite with the local tourists. It has one of the most breathtaking views, allowing one to get a first-hand look at the city and what it has to offer.

          I flip my grilled cheese sandwich on the frying pan. It instantly begins to sizzle as the fresh butter meets the hot pan. On the other side of the sandwich, now on top,  I have a nice golden burn going on the bread. Kind of like the same colour you're aiming for when you roast a marshmallow on a camping trip. It smells delicious, and the sight of the cheese oozing makes my mouth water. I can't wait to eat, along with my favourite tomato soup cooking to the left. I love to dip my sandwich in the soup before taking a nice big bite. Such a perfect combination.

          I then hear the home phone ringing on the dining room table. 

          Leaving my food temporarily, I make my way over.

          I pick it up and say, "Hello. Jane speaking."

          "Hey, Jane."

          I instantly recognize the voice. "Brad! That's so funny, I was just thinking about you."

          "Oh, really?" He chuckles. "Good thing to know I'm not as boring as Cindy makes me out to be."

          I laugh. "Oh, don't be silly. You know she loves you for who you are."

          "I sure hope so! Just the other night she fell asleep on the couch as we were having our date night. I was hoping we were gonna...you know—"

          I laugh again. "Okay, okay! Too much information!" 

          "Sorry! gotta talk to someone about this stuff."

          "Yeah, well, that's why you hire a therapist!"

          We both laugh this time.

          "So, what are you up to?" he asks.

          "Oh, you know. Same old, same old."

          "Let me guess—about to give another tour?"

          "Yup." I groan.

          "Space Needle?" 

          "You know it." I start making my way back over to the food. I adjust the phone so it's resting in between my cheek and shoulder. I can now both cook and talk at the same time.

          "Jesus. Don't people get sick and tired of going up and down that damn elevator?"

          "Well, if you exclude me, the majority of people are going up for their first time, so it doesn't surprise me."

          Brad sighs. "Yeah. I can't deny it is a special view. I remember when I took Maggy and Peter up there, they never wanted to come back down." Maggy and Peter are Brad's kids. They are very kind, well-behaved children.

          "I think it would make my job a lot more fun if there were more kids around. It's always a bunch of old people. They never stop asking questions either. By the end of the session, I feel like I've lost my voice replying to all of them!"

          "Damn. That's shitty. At least your shifts aren't as long as when you first started. Remember when you were doing ten-hour days?"

          I turn off the heat on the stove and let the soup cool down. "Oh, God. Don't even remind me about it. I'd drop dead if that were still the case!"

          We make small talk for a little while longer, laughing and joking about silly topics. 

          There's then a brief pause between our conversation.

          "Listen, Jane." Brad takes a deep breath. "I just wanted to call and say congratulations again. You know what I'm talking about."

          "Aww, thanks, Brad. That really means a lot to me."

          "I mean it. We're all so happy for you." His heavy breathing echoes into the phone.

          "It is pretty surreal," I admit with a laugh. "I guess every girl dreams about it when they're younger, but when it actually happens, it's hard to believe."

          Brad chuckles. "It's like your dreams have finally come true, hey?"

          "Totally. Sometimes I wake up in the morning and ask myself if I'm still dreaming."

          "Yeah...that must be a pretty special feeling."

          I nod. "It really is. I've never been so happy in my entire life." I almost feel myself getting emotional.

          "Everyone's gonna be there, Jane. Cindy and I are gonna bring the kids. We can't wait."

          I gasp in excitement. "Every time I check the number, there are more and more people coming. God, I hope we're gonna have enough room to fit everyone!"

          Brad snickers. "Oh, I'm sure we will. Don't you worry."

          There's another pause between us.

          "Well," Brad starts, "I can't wait to see it all play out. Anyway, I gotta run. I need to get the kids to swimming lessons, and then Cindy wants me to pick up a chicken for dinner. You know, wife's orders."

          I smile. "Sounds good, Brad. It was nice to hear from you."

          "Yeah. You, too, Jane. Take care of yourself."

          "Will do. See ya."

          "Goodbye—"

          "Oh! And Brad, one last thing."  I catch him just before he hangs up.

          "What's up?"

          The smile upon my face grows even bigger. "I just wanted to say I'm really looking forward to spending time with you and Cindy in Vietnam."

          .   .   .   .   .

          Still here on the beach, I wish for nothing but death at this point. The tears seep down my cheeks like cold rain from the sensitive irritation. I curl up in a ball, doing everything in my power to distract myself from that abhorrent ringing sound. If someone had a loaded gun aimed at my head, I would not only ask them to pull the trigger by now—I would fucking beg them. Get on my hands and knees and plead like the slave I am to their wicked ways, ready to give up everything.

          I start to hear screams in the background of my surroundings. Loud, painful, tormented screams. At first, I think I'm just hallucinating again. 

          But the longer I listen, the more familiar the screams are to me. Using all the strength inside me, I somehow manage to flip my body weight over. My eyes squint. I can barely keep them open from the stinging. However, I'm able to just barely make out the sight before me. The screams are coming from Christina. She's finally not laying in that awkward fetal position; she's standing by the perimeter of the jungle. With her back still turned to me, in her hand now lay a rather large stone. 

          I watch in horror as she violently slams the stone against her forehead repeatedly, wailing over and over at the top of her lungs.

          Regardless, I know I have to try and stop her. I stand up and nearly fall back down. Once I regain my composure, I sprint as hard as possible towards her. But it feels like I'm running through quicksand, my legs heavy and stiff as boards. The harder I try to run, the slower it seems I'm going, like those bad dreams where you can't get away from whatever's following you. Everything is a blur. My surroundings begin to sway and morph around me like I'm on LSD. But this isn't one of those beautiful trips with your friends on a blissful summer evening. It's one of those nightmare trips that send you straight to the emergency room.

          Thunderous blow after blow, Christina keeps smashing her fragile head like a pumpkin on Halloween, the desperation in her voice clear as day.

          "Christina, stop!" I shout, watching as my best friend attempts to morbidly beat herself to death. The closer I get, I can literally hear her skull cracking from the powerful force of the stone. The ringing noise gets louder and louder; the stinging sensation in my eyes gets even more intense. My vision goes cross-eyed as I continue running towards her. There are now two Christinas standing beside each other, both simultaneously attacking themselves with barbarous intentions. I feel so dissociated from reality.

          Thoughts.

          Memories.

          Flashbacks.

         I'm almost there. It's like it took forever, but I'm just a few feet away from Christina. I can help her. I know I can, no matter how awful the situation. We've known each other forever. Our friendship is invincible. I—

          Crack!

          Next thing I know, I'm laying back down in the sand. There's a sharp, deep pain forming around my head—more intense than ever before. I put two and two together, and realize that Christina hit me with the stone, like the crazy bitch she's turned into. I look up at her, and for the first time since this morning, I get to see her face. I shudder at the person looking down at me, wishing I could erase the image from my mind. Now come to think of it, I liked it more when she was hiding from us.

          Her face is redder than a ripe tomato, along with her forehead already black and blue from the self-inflicted trauma. The veins in her neck are popping out like someone on steroids, and her eyes bulge with a fiery rage that not even the evilest of souls would be able to comprehend—a hatred deeper than the core of this very earth. Christina's hand slowly raises into the air with the stone, ready to strike me down and put me out of my misery, like a fish after being caught on the line.

          "P-please!" I glance up at her with an innocent expression. "Don't hurt me, Christina!"

          The stone comes crashing down towards me at tremendous speed. Here it comes, my death. The moment where I'll be nothing left but a memory. Will there be a spot for me up in heaven? Or will I burn in hell for all my "evil sins" that Shawn mentioned?

          But just when I think it's all about to end, the stone lands with a loud thud right beside me in the sand. I gasp, opening my eyes in surprise, expecting that Christina was going to murder me right there on the spot. 

          She takes one final ghastly look at me, before taking off and sprinting into the jungle, looking like someone who just escaped from a mental hospital. 

          My head feels dizzy as she disappears into the trees. I collapse down into the sand, closing my eyes again, gradually fading away into the darkness until I pass out.

          Everything goes black.