Day Twenty-Three: The Hallucinogenic Fruit (Part Two)

I had just finished washing and changing the cloth strips for Little Black and returned here.

“Hahaha!” His manic laughter erupted, as if he had gotten hold of something extraordinary, his glee utterly unhinged.

“You, all of you are going to die! You dare to take what's mine?” Soon after, his voice turned to rage.

With a crash, the door fashioned from branches was kicked open and went flying.

“Go to hell!” He raised the gun in his hand. I felt my soul leave my body. He was actually aiming the dark muzzle at me—God, we were no more than fifty meters apart. I could see his hand trembling with fury, and the savage look in his eyes…

I didn’t run. I knew I could never outrun a bullet, and I couldn't abandon Little Black.

Of course, I didn’t want to die—absolutely not!

So I threw myself to the ground. The instant I did, the gun fired.

The bullet screamed past. Beads of cold sweat instantly burst from my forehead; my limbs trembled uncontrollably, my teeth chattered, and my heart pounded so violently that the oxygen in my blood seemed to burn away—I grew dizzy, so much so I even forgot my own name!

“Don’t run!” he shouted, charging toward us, firing once, twice, three times.

Three more shots in my direction, one of which struck the grass mere centimeters from me!

This terror is beyond description, this despair—the sense of death lurking at every moment was more harrowing than when I fell into the sea. Every muscle in my body trembled. In that moment, composure, resistance, escape—none of these existed in my mind. My thoughts were blank.

I simply lay there motionless, letting him do as he pleased.

“Run! Run! Run! Dead, all dead, hahaha, you’re all dead!” he shrieked in mad delight, his voice cracking with the strain.

“Bang, bang, bang, bang.” Four more shots, but this time, not in my direction.

I didn't dare relax, because he was already close—just a few meters away.

It felt as though my soul had drifted out of my body. I couldn’t control a single part of myself—I had become a statue, frozen and helpless.

“Hahaha, a fish that slipped the net.” His deathly voice thundered in my ear.

Despair. A deep, unrelenting despair.

I thought I would never have another chance.

Why did his hallucinations turn so violent? Why?

I couldn't understand—why?

The cold muzzle pressed against my temple.

My mind exploded with a blinding roar.

I was going to die!

I gasped for breath, but the suffocating feeling wrapped ever tighter around me.

I was like a fish thrown onto the shore, unable to breathe, unable to call out. All I could do was await death’s arrival.

“Heh heh! You thought you could hide from me here? Hahaha, you foolish thing! If you dare steal from me, you must be ready to die! Hahaha, beg me, cry and beg for mercy! Hahaha!” He squatted beside me, screaming in my ear, pressing the gun harder against my temple until the pain was unbearable. I squeezed my eyes shut in agony.

I truly couldn't move. I was a coward! In the next moment, I might leave this world behind. Luckily, I had no regrets. Yes, that's what I was thinking at the time.

“Haha, you brought this on yourself. I’ve had enough of your performance. Stop crying, stop begging, stop kowtowing—just die.”

He was utterly lost in his hallucinations, no doubt imagining someone groveling before him.

But it was pointless; he only wanted to savor the pleasure of humiliation.

Click—the trigger was pulled.

I heard it clearly. Farewell, world. Farewell, Little Black.

But the next instant, there was no gunshot!

A long exhale escaped me—his pistol must be out of bullets!

Fate had spared me!

In that moment, I felt neither pain in my temple nor suffocation. The happiness and relief of survival flooded through me.

“Ugh, filthy blood splattered all over me. Disgusting. I need a wash.” Still lost in his hallucinations, he turned and staggered toward the sea.

I heard my own breaths, my own laughter—laughter so intense that tears streamed down my cheeks without my even noticing.

I couldn’t tell if it was joy or humiliation—perhaps both.

For the first time, I was at a loss to describe my feelings. The bitterness, the oppression, and the sudden release all surged through my heart at once.

After a few minutes, I regained command of my body. Propping myself up, I crawled after him in the direction he’d gone.

He clutched his gun, snapping the trigger at empty air as he stumbled toward the shoreline.

“Kill, kill, kill! You’re all going to die! You die, you die, you die!” he raged at the empty world.

His voice was strained and hoarse from his prolonged howling.

I guessed he must have eaten a great many of those fruits—far too many.

“All mine, all mine! You filthy things—if I can’t stand the sight of you, you must die!” He was still raving even as he fell. The gun had already slipped from his grasp, and I picked it up.

Yet his hands still mimed the act of firing, index finger twitching at the air around him.

Who knows how many times he fell and got back up.

Still, he staggered on toward the sea, his foul curses never ceasing.

Blood covered his forehead, nostrils, and lips. A few times, I felt a flicker of pity, a moment’s reluctance.

But as soon as such thoughts arose, I quashed them.

I wasn’t foolish—he was a deadly threat to me.

He was the one who hurt Little Black.

He was the one who enslaved me.

No, this isn’t what I wanted.

This outcome, he brought upon himself.

He forced me into this! He could have chosen to survive with me, side by side.

We could have built shelter together, hunted together, lived in harmony.

Even if he preferred solitude, we could have simply kept to ourselves.

But he was incapable—he was one of those people who only took, never gave.

A man who murders his companions, who enslaves others, deserves no sympathy.

Step by step, he walked into the sea.

“Wash, wash—why won’t it wash away? Filthy blood, filthy things, why won’t it wash away?!” He scrubbed his body furiously, never pausing, wading ever deeper.

Step by step, until the water closed over his head.

I sat at the water’s edge and watched.

I felt no joy—only relief, and a faint trace of guilt rising in my heart.