Sinking Sands

As he slowly sunk into the sand, his grip increasingly weakened; what could he do? At any moment, his grip would break.

Then suddenly he felt something, something under his bare feet, something solid, could have been a bone or a rock, he couldn't tell but it was one thing he needed desperately, that was a footing, a bit of solid ground to stand on.

He felt the sand holding him, like he was slowly being paralyzed from the waist down. Like a stiff force, they gripped him at times, allowing for only futile movement.

Haven found a footing, and he prepared himself. He knew he had one shot at this, and if he botched his chance, he could end up not being able to find this new footing again.

He felt the air get hotter, the sweat poured out of his body like rain and his finger burned with pain. One leap, he knew he had made one leap, one leap to get a good grip, but the sand troubled him; he knew they'd hold him down; he just couldn't tell how much.

He took in a deep breath and felt the air heat up his lungs; he looked up to the sky; there were hardly any clouds; maybe they couldn't bear to see me die. He thought, strange, I'm not sure I've ever seen such a cloudless sky before.

He looked at the tip of the skull, if he was lucky enough, he could grab onto the eye hole of the skull. He was becoming more and more immersed in the game, to the point where his avatar's tiredness became his own.

He felt the sand around his feet and made sure to rest it properly on the footing. He closed his eyes, feeling his nerves and he began counting, counting down from three. On the one count, he kicked his foot down against his footing and sand around his leg, pushing himself a few feet out of the sand.

The force jolted him upwards, freeing him up to his kneecaps. He threw his hand aiming to land a grip on the left eye hole of the snake. He landed it, but his fingers slipped, the sweat on his hand had ruined all his effort, and he was falling back into the sand.

He quickly reacted by lunging his other hand at the side of the skull. He got a good grip on the side, but his downward force was too much. It pulled him down, dislocating his shoulder in the process.

He had already lunged his other hand for the left side of the skull. He grabbed it and broke his fall. He felt the sand around his leg like he was stuck in a frozen pool.

He screamed as the pain of his dislocated shoulder tore through his mind like he was continuously being branded with a red hot iron.

His grip was waning. He held on from both sides but his dislocated shoulder made it very difficult and painful for him to hang on.

He couldn't think; the pain was too much; he wanted to live; he wanted to find Amy, so he held on with all his willpower.

He was almost out of breath, the pain was draining him. With his grip firm on both sides, he knew he could pull himself up on the skull but, in the real world, he hadn't done a pull-up for as long as he could remember, and worse, in the game, his arm was dislocated, how could I pull this off he wondered.

He waited till he caught his breath and till the pain subsided a bit. It was still stinging him, but he could think and even bear moving the arm. He braced himself, feeling this was the craziest thing he'd ever done. I gotta survive this, he thought, I wanna make it to Amy.

He knew she had to be on one of the islands; maybe, if he was lucky, she was on his island. There were twelve of them; the rule was to flee your island with one of the boats in the doom caves, that rule was the mission: you had to make it off the island and head for the center arena before the island was destroyed by volcanoes, climates or cataclysm.

He gathered his courage. He took in a deep breath and pulled; he twisted his face as the waves of pain rained through his body like a chainsaw was dropped on his back.

He tightened his grip but the bone in his dislocated arm was pushing against his flesh, it was almost unbearably but with certain death a motivation, one would find themselves doing great things they never thought was possible and so did Joji

He managed to pull up to his chest and he felt the sand was now only holding on to his ankles and his feet, but his arms buckled and dropped ward, he quickly clenched his hand around the bone,

Just one more joji, he thought, just one more, you still got it in you, now go, pull!

He pulled with all his might; the pain tore him to shreds, but he kept pulling and pulling and pulling, knowing a bit of happiness waited him out in this doomed sand. Just one pull, one last flex of that injured arm, it felt like his eyes were blinking; no wait, it wasn't; he fell unconscious.

Now he thought, I'm too exhausted for this; his feet were out of the sand now, but they were still a looming threat as his grip wasn't secured.

His arms could give out at any moment if he let them falter, his arms were shaking like in a fever, and every inch of his body ached like they had been beaten for hours by the hammer.

Suddenly, his arms buckled, and he slipped. The sweat in his arms made his fall smooth and clean; he gripped tight on the bone, but against gravity, the pain tore through his flesh.