By Charlie B.

The island is where birds go to die. The dark, towering spires made of the blackest obsidian dot the island, their sharp peaks slicing through the mist that blankets the place. The birds that know they won’t make it travel to this island with their last bit of strength, and impale their bodies on the spires. The island came to be in late 9045, rising out of the ocean, as if the heavens had tied a rope around it and yanked it out. This is only speculation though, as no living creature, except for the sea life below, has seen the island appear. When it was discovered, people were absolutely baffled. People did not know about the spires, nor the reason why birds ended and still end their suffering here. It’s like they’re drawn in by some invisible force. If this force can cause birds to become suicidal, what could it do to humans? No one dares get close, only watching from a distance, fearing they would get those gruesome thoughts. Still no one really knows, because they never tried to get close. Scientists did find something though. A particular bird, a raven, was found dead, drifting away from the island. It floated about five miles before getting picked up by a boat of researchers, who were watching the island from a distance. They took the raven and inspected it. It had a hole in its heart, about the size of a quarter, but that’s not all. There was something in its eye. It bulged out, almost disconnected from the socket. The eye was crazed, demonic, with a spiral shape replacing the pupil.

Curiosity is a disease. If one person becomes curious, they are going to want answers. When one person wants answers, more people want answers, because people think life is all about finding answers. People eventually came to an agreement that this island held no answers worth dying for, so it kind of brought people together in a sense. It taught them that some things don’t need human touch, and that maybe they should stay the hell away for once. It showed how scary this island was, or more so how scary the unknown is to humankind. But some people think answers are worth dying for, and that’s one of the many flaws of the species.

A man without a name decides that he is going to risk his life for answers that he doesn’t even know exist. Since he has no name, I shall give him one. Gabriel. Now only you and me know his name, because like I am a god to him, you are a god to me. Gabriel rents a boat from a sailor who asks no questions, and he goes to the island where the birds go to die. 

As he gets closer, Gabriel’s eyes stay bright green, no spiral. He’s fine. The sight is breathtaking. The black spires shoot up into the sky. A shorter spire, not quite reaching the low clouds, has about ten birds. Maybe Gabriel will find an answer to why these birds kill themselves. He is already doing something others have not even thought about. While he marvels at the spires, Gabriel’s boat hits the shore, knocking him out of his trance. He stumbles but catches himself. The spires are even more intimidating up close. Dried blood in the color of dark crimson stains the rocky floor. Still, Gabriel feels nothing. Just curiosity. At least he has no one to spread that deadly virus to. He steps out of the boat, not even caring to anchor it. It smells of death. Squawking can be heard through the fog above. It starts and stops. Over and over. One bird dies, another one comes. Tiny drops of red fall from the heavens. Gabriel does not know where to find answers, but he will search, because as we all know, humans need answers. He steps onto the island, letting the fog consume and blind him. The fog is thick, but nothing can blind a man more than curiosity.

As Gabriel walks blindly through the fog, he runs his hand across the base of a spire. It is very rough, the blood mixed with the moistness of the fog causing it to be a bit slippery. It’s fascinating that this island, something so ancient looking and mysterious, just came out of the ocean. It leaves Gabriel to wonder how old this place is. He yanks his hand away as the squawking from above gets deafeningly loud. The birds are dying. The red drops come faster and faster. It’s raining blood. Stop, start. Stop, start. Gabriel runs through the rain, his vision obstructed by the mist and blood. A bright light breaks through the death, and Gabriel stumbles into a clearing. No fog, no rain, no squawking. It’s like an eye in the storm. The sun shines up above. A spire, thicker and taller than all its brothers and sisters, stands firm in the middle of the clearing. A staircase, carved out of the obsidian, wraps around the spire, leading up to its peak. Answers could be up there. Gabriel makes his way to the staircase, hoping that his hunger for curiosity could be finally satiated.

It takes a long time to get to the top, but he does. The view is beautiful but sickening at the same time. The spires that peek out of the fog hold the birds. The peak of this spire is not pointy, but flat. Unlike the floor below, it’s dry, and there’s no blood. Where are the answers? 

That’s when Gabriel spots him out of the corner of his eye: what looks to be a demon is standing at the edge of the spire. He’s tall and lanky, wearing a black suit and red tie. He has massive horns that are the same color as the obsidian that make up the spires. He has large, clawed hands that look like they could tear poor Gabriel apart. His wide sharp-toothed grin only widens as he spots Gabriel. But his eyes. His eyes are dark red. And in place of his pupils are spirals. The demon speaks up, his voice deep and raspy. “Greetings, friend. You have come for answers, I can tell.”

He saw right through Gabriel. “I know how you can get them. I am old and tired. It’s about time I let someone else take my place.” Before Gabriel can make so much as a sound, the demon backs off the edge. Gabriel runs to the edge, to see the demon on a spire, one with the birds, just like the birds. Gabriel can feel himself change. Horns, claws, sharp teeth, and all the demon’s features become him completely. The thoughts all flood in at once, as the spirals replace his eyes. He has become the shepherd, spreading the disease we call curiosity, to the birds, and to the next person that will call this body home. He has found answers, just not in the way he wanted.