She tried to prioritize what she needed to survive. Water seemed the most desperate of her needs. She had no idea how long she had lain unconscious on the sand. If her parched throat and cramping belly were any indication, it was enough time to be in serious trouble now. She knew she also needed to get help for her injuries. Each step was jolting her shoulder. While everything had felt hazy when she first sat up, her pain was now acute and she was feeling hyper aware of her body. She tried not to focus on anything beyond her immediate needs because if she started to dwell on not remembering who she was, she knew she would panic.
She decided that she needed to stabilize her arm somehow and stop the bleeding from where her shoulder had been pierced. Now that she was vertical and moving, it had started trickling more blood. With concentrated effort, she removed the filmy button up blouse she was wearing and tied the arms together. She carefully slipped it over her head forming a sling for her arm. She shifted her tank top up so it covered the wound as best she could. She tried to staunch the bleeding, but movement was incredibly painful and awkward. She had not realized she had a swimsuit on under her tank. Had she washed up on shore or been dumped there? She tried to tell her racing mind to stop wondering about the whys of her situation and focus everything on saving herself.
She continued staggering along the course she had set for herself. It was all a monotonous view of the white sand, but she kept making herself look up to see if there was any change in the surroundings. Maybe a stream running down to the beach—all water flows to the sea she thought. But then she second guessed herself. What did she really know? If she didn’t know herself, could she trust the knowledge she had about the way the world worked? She periodically scanned up ahead for some form of human life. A boat, a fisherman, a building, something. Maybe there would be people looking for her. Maybe there were people who loved her trying to find her right now. Or maybe someone had wanted her dead—had left her to die. What had happened to her face and shoulder? She gingerly touched her swollen nose and forehead again. Fortunately, her vision seemed to be clearing now. Maybe her memory would soon do the same.
Finally, she came across a small stream shallowly fanning its way down the beach. She fell to her knees and dipped her fingers in the water and licked them, hoping the water wouldn’t taste brackish. To her relief the water was fresh. She crawled up the beach to where the stream was slightly deeper and tried the water again. She dug a little pit in the sand with her one good hand and brought a tiny handful to her mouth. She dipped again and again savoring the refreshment. She might not remember anything, but she was sure that she had never had anything so amazingly refreshing in all her life.
Sitting back in the sand, she looked up the beach to where the stream made its way from some scrubby bushes and palm trees. Was that movement she saw? She tried to yell, but her voice caught in her throat. She pushed herself to her feet and waved her right arm while she stumbled forward. A man in white with a broad hat emerged from the greenery and stopped dead when he saw her. He turned and disappeared and she wondered if the sight of her was so grotesque, but he soon returned with a handful of men who ran down the beach to her. She collapsed into one of their arms.
The next thing she knew, she was in the back of a truck, being jostled up and down as the driver tore down the road. Images flashed through her mind as she faded in and out of consciousness. Palm trees overhead, a dog licking her hand and then getting shoved away, the concerned but smiling face of a young man bending over her, a hand pressing a towel to her shoulder. Several times, someone held a smart phone to her face with the same video playing every time: a pretty blonde woman on a boat, the faint sounds of people screaming, but she couldn’t figure out what it meant. The man with the phone pointed to her every time he started the clip. The confusion and her physical pain was too overwhelming; she finally batted the man’s hand with the phone out of her face and once again faded out.
The men in the back of the truck with her spoke a language she could not name. It was not her native language, but she must have learned a little of it at some point because she recognized certain words like “hospital.” The truck squealed to a stop and she blurrily opened her eyes to see a flag flying overhead in front of a massive concrete building.
Check back tomorrow to learn more!
She decided that she needed to stabilize her arm somehow and stop the bleeding from where her shoulder had been pierced. Now that she was vertical and moving, it had started trickling more blood. With concentrated effort, she removed the filmy button up blouse she was wearing and tied the arms together. She carefully slipped it over her head forming a sling for her arm. She shifted her tank top up so it covered the wound as best she could. She tried to staunch the bleeding, but movement was incredibly painful and awkward. She had not realized she had a swimsuit on under her tank. Had she washed up on shore or been dumped there? She tried to tell her racing mind to stop wondering about the whys of her situation and focus everything on saving herself.
She continued staggering along the course she had set for herself. It was all a monotonous view of the white sand, but she kept making herself look up to see if there was any change in the surroundings. Maybe a stream running down to the beach—all water flows to the sea she thought. But then she second guessed herself. What did she really know? If she didn’t know herself, could she trust the knowledge she had about the way the world worked? She periodically scanned up ahead for some form of human life. A boat, a fisherman, a building, something. Maybe there would be people looking for her. Maybe there were people who loved her trying to find her right now. Or maybe someone had wanted her dead—had left her to die. What had happened to her face and shoulder? She gingerly touched her swollen nose and forehead again. Fortunately, her vision seemed to be clearing now. Maybe her memory would soon do the same.
Finally, she came across a small stream shallowly fanning its way down the beach. She fell to her knees and dipped her fingers in the water and licked them, hoping the water wouldn’t taste brackish. To her relief the water was fresh. She crawled up the beach to where the stream was slightly deeper and tried the water again. She dug a little pit in the sand with her one good hand and brought a tiny handful to her mouth. She dipped again and again savoring the refreshment. She might not remember anything, but she was sure that she had never had anything so amazingly refreshing in all her life.
Sitting back in the sand, she looked up the beach to where the stream made its way from some scrubby bushes and palm trees. Was that movement she saw? She tried to yell, but her voice caught in her throat. She pushed herself to her feet and waved her right arm while she stumbled forward. A man in white with a broad hat emerged from the greenery and stopped dead when he saw her. He turned and disappeared and she wondered if the sight of her was so grotesque, but he soon returned with a handful of men who ran down the beach to her. She collapsed into one of their arms.
The next thing she knew, she was in the back of a truck, being jostled up and down as the driver tore down the road. Images flashed through her mind as she faded in and out of consciousness. Palm trees overhead, a dog licking her hand and then getting shoved away, the concerned but smiling face of a young man bending over her, a hand pressing a towel to her shoulder. Several times, someone held a smart phone to her face with the same video playing every time: a pretty blonde woman on a boat, the faint sounds of people screaming, but she couldn’t figure out what it meant. The man with the phone pointed to her every time he started the clip. The confusion and her physical pain was too overwhelming; she finally batted the man’s hand with the phone out of her face and once again faded out.
The men in the back of the truck with her spoke a language she could not name. It was not her native language, but she must have learned a little of it at some point because she recognized certain words like “hospital.” The truck squealed to a stop and she blurrily opened her eyes to see a flag flying overhead in front of a massive concrete building.
Check back tomorrow to learn more!
