A Tale Of Rainsford: A Fictional Narrative

As the sun kissed the horizon and the birds chirped, Rainsford's eyes fluttered open. He hadn’t felt more rested. He looked around and the room and was quickly reminded of what had happened the night before. There was Zaroff’s blood on the wood floor. It looked like it still hadn't dried yet. He shook his head and made his way out the bedroom door and to the kitchen. His left forearm was aching with pain. He pulled up his pajama sleeve and turned his arm over. He saw a huge gash on his forearm. About an inch to the right, he would have died.

“Ah, Zaroff got me good,” He said out loud to himself with a little snicker.Rainsford looked out of the kitchen window and saw the hounds lying by the puddle of thick, red blood on the ground. They looked peaceful, calm.
“They look rather nice when they aren’t trying to kill you,” Rainsford thought.
Rainsford looked through the cabinets in the kitchen for some food. It felt like he hadn’t eaten in years. He found some eggs and bread, he grabbed a skillet and began cooking. The smell of fresh scrambled eggs filled the kitchen. The golden toast popped out of the toaster. Rainsford's stomach growled like a dog. He took the first bite. The yellow eggs and the golden toast danced around his mouth. He took the last bite, stood up and walked over to the window leaving his plate on the table. “This house is nice, I must say,” Rainsford said out loud to himself, “but I must get off of this island.” He scanned the land thinking of how he was going to get off of this godforsaken island. “How? How on earth am I going to get off of this island,” he said out loud with anger in his voice. Hours had past and Rainsford was pacing the whole room. So much was going on in his head. Rainsford scavenged the drawers for a pen and some paper. He needed to write down what he was feeling. He needed some sort of outlet so he could get everything out until there was nothing more. He finally found a pen and paper and walked to the dining table. His thoughts began to spill onto the paper and form words. “If only Whitney would come back for me,” he wrote. “They must think I’m dead. …show more content…
Would anyone even care if I was dead? I feel like I’m a terrible person. I’ve murdered so many innocent animals and didn’t even care. I mount their heads on the wall to show people that I am the animals superior. I was wrong when I said animals don’t feel fear. They do. I know because when I was the one being hunted I felt what any animal feels when they are being hunted, fear. I’m sure no one will believe me when I tell them about this. I wouldn’t either if someone had told me about this. It’s all so surreal, I mean a man that hunts humans for sport. I suppose it’s like when we go hunt animals for sport. I just need to get back home that’s all I want." Sincerely, Rainsford He folded the paper and put it in his back pocket along with the pen. He didn't know who was going to read it, or if anyone would for that matter. He made his way to the bedroom to grab a blanket, pillow, and the backpack that Zaroff had in there. He went to the kitchen and started looking for anything that would be useful for his long journey home. He grabbed some food, 2 knives, Zaroff's pistol, and took as much water as the backpack would let him. Rainsford wasn’t exactly sure how he was going to get home but he was going to find out. He had been walking for more than an hour when he heard a sound from the backpack. He took off the backpack to see what it was. “Static!” Rainsford said with excitement. “Is anyone there? Kerr.” Said the voice. “Yes! I’m here, I need help,” Rainsford said as his muscles tensed up. “What’s your location?" “I don’t know, an island,” Rainsford said with an annoyed tone. Rainsford's heart was racing so fast as if it was going to