Image by Scott Kinmartin via Flickr The weather worsened as we traversed the island. Taking advice from the locals, who unexpectedly spoke English, we gathered the fountain was located near the centre of the island. Every 30 years, a party of brave islanders would travel to the fountain and return with flasks of water, one drop of which restored the drinker to the age of 18. Of course, the journey was not an easy one - ancient, prehistoric creatures roamed the paths, grander eternal teenhood, savaging any who crossed their paths and preparing themselves for University.
But first, we had to deal with the weather. Storms of prehistoric storminess roamed the island's inner area. Rains from prehistoric times pounded down upon us, messing up the hair of our group. Sergi, his rat-like features widened in fear, suddenly appeared ahead of. Using his tracking abilities, he had decided to scout ahead and, if possible, betray us. This was his role in our group - in the finest Hollywood traditions, Sergi was the foreign group member who would turn on us and steal our whatever. As always, the fact we'd all come to this island to plunder ancient magics would be ignored in favour of his treachery.
But for now, Sergi remained un-betraying to us. He was even helping us, shouting loudly that a dinosaur was following him. In fact - Actually, I'm sorry. I'm not writing this very well, am I? This is not a Pulitzer-Prize* winning piece of fiction. Well, I'll try harder.
The jungle creaked and moaned, repeating ancient echoes that had bounced the hallowed leaves since time began. The trees, their roots deep and long, stretched all across the island, drawing water from the same source as the fountain. Leaves unknown to the eyes of man for thousands of years fell around us, serving as feeble shelter, or unceremoniously, as toilet paper. We had stopped to take shelter, to consult the high-quality map the tribesmen had printed for us in their library. The laminated sheet mocked us as droplets of water ran from the shiny surface. Sergi, having scouted in the army for many years, had been sent ahead, to report to us the lay of the land. The rain continued, drops the size and sharpness of pencils fell and impaled the ground, sending sprays of mud into the air. We did not talk; the ancient rains drowned noise as well as people, and it seemed best not to open our mouths, disturbed flies buzzed nearby.
In the distance, I fancied I heard a scream, a cry without the wisdom of age exhibited in the flora and fauna around us. It drew closer, and I noticed my companions raise their heads in interest.
Leaves parted ahead of us; ancient ferns spreading their leaves and opening their passageways. Adventurer Ed reached out slowly, picking up his rifle. My aged hands crawled my body, reaching for the knife in my belt. Then suddenly, the trees gave a final shudder and spat out a figure, his heels flying behind him, his face gripped with fear and splattered in mud. Segi, his visage terrified, sprinted past us. His warning cry was carried back on primordial winds.
*Yes, I'm aware I'm not even eligible for one. I know, it was sarcasm. It's what I do.