The Island of No Return
The Island of No Return By
Asmaa Nada
chapter 1
A makeshift raft, crafted from wooden planks bound tightly together by a thick, sturdy rope. The gaps between the timber were sealed with a dark, tar-like substance—not manmade, but a creation of nature itself. Some might call it black pitch, yet it differed from the kind known to humans; this one was found deep within a small lake, nestled in the heart of a deserted, uninhabited island.
Mounted atop the planks were large triangular poles, holding together a patchwork of worn-out clothes. Sewn and knotted so cleverly, they formed a single great sail—one that caught the wind and drove the raft ever farther from the shores of what he would later name: The Island of Doom.
That name came from the only soul aboard—a young man of unknown identity, lying unconscious on the raft. His face bore the unmistakable marks of exhaustion and hunger. His body was painfully thin, his bones visibly outlined beneath his sun-worn skin. A tangled, unkempt beard covered his jaw, matching the wild disorder of his matted hair. If his appearance said anything, it was that he had been adrift not for days—but for months.
On a tranquil morning, beneath a clear blue sky aboard a luxury cruise ship charting its course across continents, seas, and oceans—the sharp sound of an alarm shattered the calm. The ship’s captain had spotted something unusual: a sail, affixed to a strange collection of drifting wood on the ocean’s surface.
The captain ordered the ship to halt at a safe distance, careful not to let the waves created by the vessel’s massive frame scatter the fragile raft. From one side of the ship, a small boat was lowered into the water, carrying a team of sailors. They made their way to the raft, tied it securely, and began towing it back toward the ship.
One sailor tried to rouse the young man, calling out and shaking his shoulder gently. But he remained unresponsive—completely unconscious. Another crew member climbed cautiously onto the wooden raft, carefully lifted the limp body, and placed it into the small boat.
Moments later, the boat was hoisted back up and secured on deck, just as it had been before. The young man was rushed to the ship’s infirmary, where the onboard doctor immediately began examining him. Without delay, he administered intravenous fluids and essential medications, hoping to stabilize his mysterious new patient.
Four days had passed, and the young man remained unconscious. But as the fourth day drew to a close, he began to stir restlessly in his bed. His limbs twitched in scattered, frantic movements, his breathing quickened, and his expression shifted—revealing to any observer that he was trying to escape something terrifying in his dreams.
The ship's doctor moved closer, calling gently to get his attention.
> “Easy now... You're on a ship. You're safe here. Don't be afraid.”
Without full awareness, the young man's eyes shot open wide. In a sudden burst of panic, he lunged forward, gripping the doctor tightly as he glanced around, trying to speak—but only broken, unintelligible words came out at first. Moments later, his voice became clearer, frantic:
> “Watch out! They're coming! We have to get inside the circle of fire!”
The doctor quickly administered a mild sedative to calm him down, trying to bring the man back from whatever nightmare held him. Slowly, the tension left his body, and he loosened his grip on the doctor.
Then, unexpectedly, he began to laugh—quietly at first, though there was something almost hysterical in the sound. His limbs moved sluggishly now under the drug’s influence, and he repeated softly:
> “I survived… I made it… I’m not on that island anymore. I'm far from the shore. Hunger, thirst—none of it matters anymore. They're better than those eyes… those eyes that devoured my friends.”
The doctor gave a reassuring nod.
> “Yes. You survived. You're aboard the Mariana, a civilian cruise vessel. Can you tell me your name?”
The man looked at him and said,
> “Yes… My name is Mark Blair Vladimir, and I am—”
He paused, glancing down at his hands, his frail body. Then, almost in a whisper, he added:
> “I don’t know. I don’t know how long I was on that island.”
The doctor responded gently,
> “Today is June, 2024.”
Mark’s eyes widened in disbelief.
> “What? We set sail back in January... of 2010. I thought it had only been a year and a half. Time… time isn’t real on that island.”
The doctor smiled softly.
> “Alright. That’s enough talking for now. You need rest, some nourishment, and time to recover. Then, you can tell us everything—what happened, and where your friends are.”
He placed a few tablets in Mark’s mouth and helped him swallow them with water. Then he contacted the ship’s kitchen to send up a bowl of warm soup.
Half an hour later, Mark slipped into a deep sleep once more.
---
The next morning, when Mark awoke, he found a clean set of clothes folded neatly on a chair beside the bed. He rose slowly, took the clothes, and headed into the small bathroom attached to his cabin. After several minutes, he reemerged—clean-shaven, his hair combed, and dressed in clothes that hung loosely on his thin frame.
The doctor returned shortly after, having just completed his morning rounds. Upon seeing Mark up and dressed, he smiled warmly.
> “Thank God you’re looking better. What do you say we head to the upper deck, have some breakfast, and speak with the captain and crew? I believe you have quite a story to tell.”
Mark nodded silently and followed the doctor out of the room, up an internal staircase and onto a deck reserved for the ship’s crew. As he stepped outside, the endless blue of the ocean greeted him on all sides. He took a deep breath, smiled, then walked to the railing and shouted at the sea:
> “Where are you now, you vile thing? Where are your eyes that hunted anything that moved? I’m far from you now! You won’t taste my flesh, nor drain my blood!”
Captain Nicola approached with a steady, knowing stride.
> “Yes… You’re far from Anaconda Island. We’ve all heard the legends. A cursed island, some say—but no one has ever seen it with their own eyes… until now. You're the first to make it back. My name is Nicola. I’m the captain of this ship. Come—sit with us, have some breakfast, and tell us everything.”
Mark turned and saw the table spread with a delightful array of cheeses, French bread, pastries, and colorful jams. He rushed to it, sitting down and grabbing a bit of everything with frantic hands.
The doctor chuckled.
> “Easy there! Don’t worry—we're not going to run out of food.”
Tears began to stream down Mark's face, though he didn’t even realize it at first.
> “Right… I forgot. They’re gone now. They won’t be coming to tear me apart…”
He slowed his eating, forcing himself to breathe. After a few minutes, he leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile across his face—the first in years, perhaps.
Captain Nicola leaned forward, his tone serious but calm.
> “I think now’s the time. Tell us everything you remember… about the island hidden in the heart of the ocean. The one no one has ever found—until you.”
Mark took a deep breath… and began to speak.