For Once Upon A Time

It had been a day since the group of adventurers had visited the Isle of Clichés, and night was now falling. The boat they had acquired from The Paradox King, (which looked suspiciously similar to their original boat) had carried them all the way to the next island in the story in that one short day.

"Jane, what do you think?" Michael asked, standing at the front of the boat, staring at the strip of land in the distance. The sun was almost completely set, and the whole world had been filled with a golden glow. "Do you think we'll be able to reach the eighth island in time? Before this heat-wave melts the popsicles? It's been a week, and we've only been to the first two... we probably don't have much time left, and there's still a long way to go."

Jane brushed away a few strands of her golden hair, the color accented even more because of the setting-sun's light. "I don't know, Michael. We have to believe we can make it. And you have to believe we can make it. Everyone in this group looks up to you Mike... you're their leader. If you don't think we'll succeed, all of our will-power and spirit for this quest will dissipate. Sometimes, we need you more than you think."

Michael continued staring down at the calm, ocean water. He didn't know what to say. He didn't feel needed... he didn't feel like a leader. He was just pulled into all of this, because he was one of the most average people in the country. How could someone so normal, do something so great? He just didn't think he had it in him. Michael looked up at Jane. Their eyes met, and all of the sudden he felt his heart start beating faster. The two of them started moving closer together, and before they knew what was happening, their lips had met. It lasted only a few seconds, before Jane pulled away blushing. "I think.. I've.. got to go.. somewhere.." She stuttered nervously, before quickly walking off in another direction.

"Hey Jane... wait." Michael called. She turned around, her face still red. He'd never seen her like this. Usually she was tough. She had a wall around her, and never let anyone past. This was a different side of her. "Jane... I just wanted to say..." Mike paused again, then continued, "Haven't these last few paragraphs seemed a lot more serious than what most of the story is like?"

"Yeah... I noticed that too. I guess it's just a change of pace for For Once Upon A Time. Don't worry though. According to the script, a scene with Traytor is up next. That's sure to be pretty stupid."

"Hm... Yeah, Traytor is pretty stupid." Both Jane and Michael laughed about that, right as the last bit of the sun, crossed over the horizon.

On the complete opposite side of the boat, Traytor Benedict McTreason fumbled with a small black device. "Stupid... device... just... turn... on!" He yelled, in a frustrated voice. The device gave a whir and then buzzed, coming to life. "Hello? Hello? Can you hear me?" Traytor asked, speaking to the device. A voice on the other end responded. When it stopped, Traytor continued, "Yes... yes... I can hear you too. Now... my report. The four of them have already made it pass the first two Islands of the Storyline, and the third one is in sight... yes... yeah, we'll probably make it there by night-fall... I know... I know... okay... but... maybe I should... no... okay... okay... yeah... okay... got it..."

Just then, a voice came from around the corner, "Traytor?" It was Jamall. Traytor quickly shoved the device in his pocket, and turned to face the resident navigator, trying to act as nonchalant as possible.

"Ohhh... hey Jamall." Traytor greeted, "How've you been? Ship holding up good? Who's steering right now? Because, you know, it would be terrible if we crashed..."

"Rachel." He interrupted, "She wanted to learn how to pilot it, so I was showing her... what exactly are you doing back here? Were you talking to someone?"

"What? Me? Talking? Nooo... I don't even know how to talk!" Traytor had started sweating profusely. "I mean, I know how to talk... and all... because I'm doing it right now! But... what I meant was... that I wasn't talking, when you weren't here... only... once you were here... because I'm all alone and who would there be to talk to? Huh? Yeah, no one, that's who... so... yeah, that's all that's going on over here. Nothing. What about... what about you? Anything happening? Huh?" Traytor chuckled nervously.

"Oh. Okay. Well I must have been mistaken. I kind of thought you were informing on our enemies where we were and what we've been doing. But I guess not. I mean, how silly was I for thinking that? You're Traytor! There's no way you'd become a traitor. It's just not in you... so see you later." Jamall turned and walked off, back towards the steering wheel.

"Whew. That was close." Traytor breathed a sigh of relief.

"Alright everyone. I think the best course of action would be to go ashore tonight. Not only do we need supplies, and the third key, but it's very cold tonight and we can't build a fire on a wooden boat." Michael was trying to sound like a leader as much as possible. "Jane and Jamall, you two will be in charge of foraging for food and water. Traytor and Rachel, I want you two to start building a fire on the beach. We need something to keep us warm. I'm going to see if there's any danger on this island, and try to find the person in charge... We'll all meet back at the fire in one hour. Everyone understand?" The group nodded. "Then let's go."

The five heroes trodded off the boat, and onto the sandy beach. Like all of the islands they'd visited so far, the first hundred yards or so were beach, which then mixed into a jungle. It was hard to see beyond that in the dark however.

As soon as they marked a spot for a campfire, Jamall and Jane went off one way, while Michael went off another, leaving Rachel and Traytor alone. To build their fire, they began by digging a shallow hole in the beach, and surrounding it with rocks they pulled from the ocean. Both of them then walked in opposite directions down the shore of the beach, searching for driftwood. After each had obtained a suitable amount, they turned around, walked back, and met back at the hole.

"Alright," Traytor began. "How should we go about building this fire?" Rachel began stacking the wood in a tipi formation, placing smaller sticks at the base. "This is definitely the best way to do it." She explained. "We just need some glass, or something, the focus the sun's rays, and start the fire."

"What sun? It's nearly completely set. There's no way we'll start a fire like that, tonight. Here, watch me." Traytor kicked over the tipi Rachel had built, then fell to his knees, clumping all the wood together. He then picked up two decently sized sticks, and began rubbing them together as fast as he could.

"You idiot, that's never going to work. That's just a lame idea from movies. You can't actually start a fire like that. You have to use flint and steel. Or a piece of glass and the sun. Or matches. You're so stupid sometimes." Rachel pushed Traytor out of the way, and began the stack the sticks back up in their previous formation. "Go find some glass now, quickly, before we lose the sun."

"No." Traytor, refused. "Your idea would never work. It's all about friction. That's how matches work in the first place. Now let me try again." Traytor pushed Rachel over, and began rubbing two sticks together again.

"Fine, do what you want. I'm going to get some glass from the ship so we can actually start a fire." Rachel stormed off, back to their boat, which the teenagers had named "S.S. Boat II" after their original ship. After smashing a pressure gauge she had deemed, "unimportant", in the engine room of the ship, she searched for a suitable piece of glass with which she could start a fire. Rachel found one she liked, sticking out of her bleeding fist.

Outside on the beach, Traytor had been dutifully rubbing two sticks together, until his arms had grown sore and tired. He wouldn't, however, allow himself to be proven wrong by Rachel. Instead, he just kept going and going, for almost ten minutes, until Rachel showed back up with the glass, bloody knuckles, and a look of satisfaction.

"I told you it wasn't going to work." She said. "You can rub it all you want, but nothing's going to happen."

"That's what she said!" Traytor yelled immaturely. Rachel breathed deeply, rolled her eyes, and refrained from hitting him. "Just let me do it."

"That's what she said." Traytor repeated.

"Stop doing that!" Rachel yelled.

"That's what she said!"

"I'm gonna hurt you!" Rachel warned, grabbing Traytor's shirt and raising her first above his face.

"That's what she said." He squeaked out, turning his head, still rubbing the sticks together, but much faster now.

"That doesn't even make sense!"

"That's what she said!" Rachel swung her fist down, and stopped just an inch short of his tightly closed eyes. A loud crackling sound to her right had made her pause. Traytor opened his eyes and looked down. The pile of sticks had burst into flames.

"I can't believe you actually made it happen..." Rachel said in awe.

"Yeah," Traytor replied, "That's what she said."