Author's note: One of my first Pastas, it took a while to plan this, so please don't delete it for any reason!
It is quite long.
As nineteen year old Brandon Williams awoke, still buckled in his seat, he was stunned. All he could remember were the pilots screaming from the cockpit, oxygen masks dropping down, and a horrible grinding sound. It wasn't long before he realized they crashed.
After he unbuckled his seatbelt, he trudged through the wreckage, ignoring the corpses around him and stepping over the occasional suitcase. He finally made his way near the door, where he found the copilot. He had scratches and claw marks all over his body, and he held a revolver in his hand. Brandon yelped, but then calmed himself, and checked the revolver. Empty.
"Obviously, it would never be that easy," Brandon muttered to himself.
As he broke down the door, he gazed out onto the beach. There were a few crates nearby, and Brandon forced open the nearest one, and observed its contents. It contained a bunch of waterlogged crackers, a broken knife, and a shotgun with one shell. Brandon thought that would be of use, and grabbed the shell and shotgun. Although he wasn't very familiar with guns, he loaded it.
As he peered out into the wild, he saw two red eyes staring at him from in the forest, about thirty yards away. Brandon went pale, and sprinted back to the plane. He realized that the plane had crashed into three parts. He hid in the cockpit, as it was high up and provided a good range. He started to cry. He was scared, and missed his family. Eventually he fell asleep.
When he awoke, it was night. Something had awoke him. It was a bloodcurdling scream. He saw a man run across the beach, followed by a horrific creature. It was a wolf, about eight feet tall, matted fur, with dead eyes, and a smile on its face. The man pulled out a flare gun, pointed it up, and attempted to fire it, but he was wounded severely across the chest. Brandon tried to help him, but he tripped, twisting his ankle. Brandon left out a whimper while he fell onto the ground. He simply sat there, helpless, hearing the monster roar. He heard a final scream, then a sickening twisting sound. He then heard a dragging sound, followed by silence. He somehow managed to get up, grabbed the shotgun, and tried to keep his eyes open.
As the sun rose, his ankle felt better. Note to self: don't try to go into the forest, he thought. He headed outside, his hoodie's sleeves rolled up. He scanned the beach, and found the man. He thought he was dragged into the forest. The man was covered in blood. Brandon recognized him as the pilot. After a quick check, he decided that the man was dead. Brandon shook his head out of pity and went on about his business, searching for food. As he stared off into the distance, he saw something charging towards him. It was the wolf. And it had something in its mouth. A person. As the wolf closed in, it dropped what was in its mouth. Brandon's best friend, James Faddon.
Anger boiled up inside him, and he screamed angrily, "COME ON, YOU MAN EATER!" and raised the shotgun.
Epilogue[]
Brandon J. Williams was found on May 29th, 2013 by an expedition ship, inside the cockpit of a crashed plane. He was found asleep, holding a shotgun, which was emptied. He was one of few of people to survive this crash. All other people involved were found mutilated beyond recognition, including the pilot of the plane. He was in a stable physical condition, and in good mental condition. He tells a horrific story, and although not believed, paranormal creatures were found on the island. He was sent home to his family.
Brandon closed the book he found on the ship relating to him.
"Things could be worse," he said to himself.
Just then he heard a low, menacing growl from the backyard of his house. He looked out and saw one of those wolves, smiling.