The island air hung heavy and humid around Jamil as he stepped off the small ferry onto the docks of Praslin. It was nothing like the dry heat of his native Comoros. He adjusted the worn strap of his duffel bag, the coarse material scratching against his neck.
He'd come seeking work, lured by the promise of a construction job at a new resort, but a sense of unease wormed its way into him as he looked around.
The other passengers scattered quickly, disappearing down dusty roads flanked by overgrown vegetation. Jamil was left alone, the silence punctuated only by the screech of unseen birds.
He checked the crumpled paper in his hand – directions to the supposed work site, scribbled in hurried handwriting. He walked, the sun beating down on his back, each step heavy with apprehension.
He reached a crossroads marked by a weather-beaten sign pointing toward "Anse Takamaka." The arrow felt accusatory. According to the directions, he was supposed to turn right, onto a barely visible dirt track. Jamil hesitated.
The path led into a dense, shadowed part of the island. It was dark, humid, and gave him goosebumps. Jamil was not a superstitious man, but something in the air felt wrong. He remembered his grandmother's warnings about places untouched by the light. He tried to brush off the feeling. He needed this job. He trudged down the dirt track.
The jungle closed in, the air growing thicker. Strange, flowering plants crowded the path, their colors too vibrant, their scents too sweet, almost sickly.
He pushed past hanging vines, their touch like cold fingers on his skin. The construction site should have been nearby, but he saw nothing, heard nothing, except the whispering leaves and the quick rustling of unseen things in the undergrowth.
He pressed on, growing more certain with each step that he had been misled. Just as he was about to turn back, he reached a clearing. In the center stood a collection of simple wooden buildings, their roofs sagging, their walls painted in faded colors. This was not a resort construction site. This was a village of some sort.
People emerged from the houses, drawn by his arrival. They were pale, their faces gaunt, their eyes dark and sunken. They watched him, not with curiosity or welcome, but with a silent, unnerving intensity. Jamil felt a shiver travel down his spine.
"Welcome, stranger," a woman said. She stepped forward from the crowd, her voice raspy and low. "We are the Florengels."
"I… I am looking for work," Jamil replied, trying to keep his voice steady. "I was told there was construction here."
The woman smiled, but the expression did not reach her eyes. "There is always work to be done. Come, we will show you."
She led him into one of the buildings, a long, dark hall filled with wooden benches. The others followed, their silent presence pressing in on him. He noticed an altar at the far end of the hall, draped with dark fabric.
"We are simple people," the woman said. "We live according to the old ways. We respect the island and its bounty."
Jamil nodded, unsure what to say. The atmosphere felt suffocating.
"To thrive, we must give back," another man spoke, stepping closer. His breath smelled of earth and something metallic. "We offer gifts to the island, so that it continues to provide for us."
Jamil's stomach churned. He didn't like the way this was going. "What kind of gifts?" he asked.
The woman's smile widened. "The most precious kind."
That night, they gave him a small room in one of the buildings. He lay on the straw-filled mattress, unable to sleep. The faces of the Florengels swam in his mind, their eyes hollow and unsettling.
He tried to convince himself he was overreacting. Perhaps they were just isolated, their customs different. But the unease persisted, a knot tightening in his chest.
He crept out of the room and back into the hall. The altar was now bathed in moonlight streaming through a crack in the roof. He approached it cautiously.
The dark fabric was pulled back, revealing a stone slab. A rusty stain marred the surface. He touched it, the metal scent even stronger now. Then, he saw something that made his blood run cold.
Hidden beneath the altar were crude drawings scratched into the floor, images of human figures bound and sacrificed. The drawings were old, some fading, but their meaning was unmistakable. Jamil backed away, his heart pounding in his ears.
He turned to flee, but the Florengels stood in the doorway, blocking his escape. Their faces were grim. They said nothing, but their intent was terrifyingly clear.
"You know too much now," the woman said. "You understand our ways."
He was taken to the main square of the village, a circle of dirt surrounded by wooden posts carved with grotesque figures. The entire community stood there, watching, waiting. He had no idea what they planned.
He scanned the surroundings.
Bound to one of the posts was a young woman, gagged and trembling. Jamil recognized her as one of the few who had offered him a hesitant smile upon his arrival. Hope flared inside him – if she was tied up, perhaps he could untie her and both of them escape. He had to try something.
He started backing toward the closest exit of the village, not showing too much agitation. Jamil had to pick a calculated approach. He took several slow steps. "I think I may leave this opportunity" Jamil uttered, "it does not quite meet my expectations."
He felt his breath shorten; a group of men came and surrounded Jamil and the village square. All he could feel was the sweat pouring through his body. He looked at the faces. He recognized they were emotionless, and had hollow stares. All their intentions pointed to evil. He tried to step aside; yet he could not find any point of exit. His vision was clouding up, and he felt he could not handle such intense levels of tension.
The cultists spoke again. "Oh dear man, your fate has been sealed ever since you touched this accursed island!" Jamil still held hope; hope to his very final breath. He looked around for signs of help. Even signs of help from anything or anyone.
As a reaction, Jamil dashed for the girl that had been strung to the wooden beam. While the crowd was fixated and surprised at Jamil's act, he began slashing the ropes, and took her by the hand and went straight to where he first walked through, the jungle passage to the ferry docks.
The Florengel inhabitants did not step still. The mob followed and chased Jamil through the jungle and branches of all variety.
All he could hear were people shrieking in his ear and jungle vegetation brushing onto his skin. "We can do this, only if you trust in me!" He spoke. All she could provide in response was heavy breathing and erratic steps, which was to be expected in the very least.
His only objective was to arrive to the port in time to leave this dreaded place. He still hadn't quite figured out why exactly he was here, or even who suggested for him to visit this place of all places. So many questions, which may or may not be solved.
But those questions are minuscule to surviving this living hell that Jamil was undergoing through the present moment. He and the girl tumbled and ran through several patches of jungle, making some ground to the original point he departed from.
It wasn't long before they were approaching their original goal, which was very advantageous at such. Jamil peeked around and assessed his situation at a micro level, while being chased by Florengel inhabitants, covered in mud, holding hands to survive with a girl he just met.
The conditions he was dealing with seemed nearly impossible, but as of now he had defied what seemed like destiny.
Emerging out of the vegetation.
He could not believe his eyes… He arrived back, back to square one…
There was no sign of port, only signs of sea, sand, sun and shore… No manmade infrastructure appeared in his sights. Jamil checked the parameters once again. No ferry dock. They ended up exactly where they started.
Back where Jamil first arrived, however it seems that there wasn't even a place to leave to. It turns out he was truly and utterly stranded on this place forever with people looking to inflict nothing but pain and sorrow on his very existence. As he comes to terms with his destiny, they come surrounding.
"There is no escape, Jamil." The woman appeared behind the mob and the two protagonists. "The island keeps its promises."
They were dragged back to the village, to the circle of posts, the altar now illuminated by torchlight. Jamil watched in helpless despair as the girl was forced onto the slab. She did not scream; she seemed to have accepted her fate.
Then, they turned their attention to Jamil. He struggled, but their grip was too strong. He had to get to the ferry.
He saw her as they brought the blade down, her eyes fixed on his. A profound understanding seemed to in them. As if she felt pity for him.
Or if she finally understood something of Jamil's existence and what it meant. And his entire plan to leave this wretched place had turned out to nothing, simply a delusion of mind. They pushed him onto the slab, next to the girl.
He could only weep for his failures and downfalls in what were the very last seconds of his own livelihood and essence of humanity. His tears blurred his vision, as the steel reflected with flames.
The steel pierced Jamil in what was the very moment, he exhaled a burst of air, which symbolized both fear, terror, and resignation to his own doom. The pain was unutterable and unspeakable, there was absolutely nothing that compared to the pain he experienced, no earthly measures could express such sensation.
He envisioned memories. In Comoros. Family. He realized he wasn't there. No return now, there was only here. Nothing besides that steel and the evil smiles. Nothing could possibly get worse for this exact case of his ending here today.
With an intense searing agony, he perished here in this very place and will become yet another soul and spirit within this isolated prison of Praslin Island. The waves crashed onto the shore and became to wash away what it could.
The Florengels rejoiced as if they'd finally earned their place back, only through the actions of blood. Now with the bodies of two humans slain and offered back to their island to pay reparations for living in and benefiting from Praslin.
Jamil finally closed his eyes and felt no more. He found his forever sleep, as the girl laid still. In the end they met death face to face. As they would have their eternity, they become integrated and are claimed to become of the very jungle. Both being devoured and decomposed into part of island itself.