I was never good with journals. I always lost them, or forgot to keep updating them.

  My mama kept one. Always said one day her mind would go, and she would always have something to look back on, to remind her of who she was. I can see her now, sitting in that rocking chair by the window with the patchwork quilt across her lap and the journal splayed open, full of her whole life.

  Well, Mama, maybe you were right.

  My mind is slipping me now. It always frightened me, the idea of it going like yours had. But being scared of something don't stop it from coming. Maybe it even hurries it along.

  Yesterday, I forgot who Royce was. My sweet Royce.

  I suppose, though, if dementia was cruel enough to make you forget your own daughter, I shouldn’t be surprised that it would make me forget my husband.

  It was momentary. I was making our morning coffee. Two cups. Two sugars, for Royce. I like mine black. And yet, when he called out to me… I feared someone had broken into my home. That my children were unsafe.

  Oh, my children. Neither of them were with us, of course. They are both thousands of miles away, tucking their children safely into bed and turning on their nightlights for them. But at that moment, I could have sworn they were little ones again.

  The details of this event don't matter. I already wish to forget the expression upon his face when I regained my senses.

  I had hoped to find answers in South Korea. A few clinical studies a bit further along than anything my western home-front offered. Royce always calls me a cynic, but I knew it was futile. The phone call this morning did not come as a surprise. There is nothing they can do to help me.

  We are returning home, with nothing but a few weeks less of my complete whatever was already left of my mind.

  Anyways, I picked up this journal in the airport gift shop. I just hope I can keep track of this one. A lovely young woman who spoke English helped me pick it out, pointing out the little pen holder so I wouldn’t lose it.

  The airport staff has been so nice. Everyone has, really. Despite not getting the answers we wanted, it was a pleasant trip. I'm glad Royce and I got to take it. It will probably be our last great adventure, and certainly our last time overseas.

  The plane is boarding now. I should help with Royce's wheelchair.

  ***

  This is not what I thought this journal would be for.

  Charlotte, Ethan, I hope you both know how much your father and I love you. If we had thought for a moment that we would not be making the trip home, we never would have come.

  Royce is calling me a cynic again. But I've been in airplanes, and I've never felt turbulence this bad. I can hear the metal of the plane groaning and bending. I don't know if we'll make it across the ocean. I don't know if we'll see you again.

  We've hit a patch of smooth sailing. I'll write for as long as I can, until it becomes too bad again.

  What to say?

  When you may have minutes to summarize your life?

  I won't admit that I'm afraid, though I'm sure the way my hands shake gives that away.

  I have few regrets across my years.

  I have none when it comes to the two of you, or your father. You have been the pride of both of our existences. You both have become amazing parents. Seeing our grandchildren has brought us so much joy. I had hoped to spoil them for longer.

  The turbulence is getting bad again.

  I don't know how I'll get this to you, but I had to at least get it on paper.

  We love you.

  We will always love you.

  ***

  I won't pretend to understand what has happened.

  I shall simply pen it in its truth, and whoever finds this journal may do with it as you wish.

  The plane crash seems distant when I think back on it, though I know it was today. At least, I hope that was today. The details are hazy. I remember Royce taking my hand into his as the lights in the cabin flickered. I remember the screams of the other passengers as the air masks were ejected. I remember my own panic and the fear of dying choking me. And then everything went dark.

  The next thing I remember was in stark contrast to my last. Everything was blindingly bright. The sun bore down on me, and I was soaking wet with saltwater. There were pieces of a plane speckled across the beach along with me. An empty row of seats, one of the wings, more metal twisted beyond the point of recognition.

  And yet, I was alone.

  I wandered through the wreckage for what felt like an eternity. I shouted for Royce until my throat was raw.

  In the end, it was him that found me. When I saw him, I thought that I had surely died.

  I must have been dead.

  My husband shouted for me, waving both arms above his head, like some sort of beautiful mirage.

  I had to stop and blink. When that didn't work, I rubbed my eyes till I saw multicolor kaleidoscopes but when they opened, the vision before me remained the same. My husband was walking towards me, but he couldn't have been any older than the day he was sworn into the military, though he was still dressed in the same striped jumpsuit I had struggled to dress him in this morning.

  I stumbled towards him, probably looking a mess, myself. Maybe his angel was here to carry me home, too, I had time to think before he was upon me, picking me up in a great swinging hug that I had loved so much when we were younger.

  He gathered my face up in his hands, and I will not attempt to deceive you, or myself. We both wept. He kissed me like it was our wedding day again. Though I had not realized in my frantic searching for him, my body was no longer that of a 78 year old woman. Soft, unmarred skin replaced what wrinkles had warped and sunspots dotted. I couldn't have been more than 20 or 21- I didn't even have the scar that my first childbirth had left me with. All of our gray hairs had returned to their youthful colors, his inky dark and mine auburn red. Our cataracts had cleared, our joints didn't ache- I think you get the idea. For all intents and purposes, and with every check we made, we were young again.

  Our weeping quickly turned to laughter, Royce racing to the water's edge, leaping with joy as he stretched his limbs for the first time in decades. I lost myself in the moment, something that had been so hard to do for so long. We danced to the beat of our heartbeats and hollers, kicking up sand as our heels dug in. The weight of age had been lifted off of us, and it was more freeing than anything I can ever describe in words.

  Perhaps it was the cynic in me, but I almost let myself believe that we were dead. If not for the burn in the back of my throat and pit of my stomach, I probably wouldn't have left that beach. Royce had to have been feeling hungry, too, probably far hungrier than I was. He hadn't eaten anything solid in… I couldn't remember. Upon that thought, I did make a mental note to check my own teeth, and found no trace of dentures and my teeth firmly in place- even the chip in one of them on the right side I had gotten when I was a child.

  By the time the sun was getting low, Royce had built a small shelter for us. It was something that he would have told me stories about during his deployment, and I would have shaken my head and been grateful for every night I slept soundly on a pillow while he was away. Yet, here I was. Trying to find solace in the shifting sands beneath the fabric of the seats he had cut off and made into a sheet for us. I heard his fitful snores quickly. I had always envied how quickly he could fall asleep. But, it gives me time to pen this, I suppose.

  I am hopeful to find a freshwater source in the morning. Perhaps Royce can even lay traps for some small game, as well, or know how to craft something to fish with. I think I spotted a colony of mushrooms I recognized, but it was hard to tell in the dying light. I will check again at first light. The fire is dying now. I should try to get some rest.

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  ***

  The morning was not unkind to us. Somehow, I did manage to get some sleep. I woke to the dazzling sunlight, Royce already knee-deep in the water offshore as he fished with some sort of spear he fashioned from the metal of the wreckage.

  By the time he came back to our little campsite, I had enough time to check out those mystery fungi from the night before. I was disappointed in my investigation. I had never seen a mushroom quite like the ones that grew off the rotting tree I found myself peering over. Brown dots discolored cream color skin, their bulbous heads looking ready to burst. No doubt with a powder of some sort, to ward off predators.

  I decided I was not willing to risk finding out whatever that strange powder may do when it is ingested, and resolved myself to waiting for Royce to clean whatever he was struggling to drag back from the shore now.

  It was large, and dark. Slimy. Still twitching as he dropped it next to me with a disgruntled sigh. "I can’t figure out where we are. I've never seen anything like this."

  I couldn't help but to agree as I looked over it. It wasn't quite like an eel, too thick and rounded. It had skin similar to catfish as he began cleaning it. Its teeth almost looked… well, almost looked human. I did not share these thoughts out loud with my husband. "We should build an S.O.S. marker, right? So someone passing over can see that we're stranded?" I mused, deciding not to comment on the still-twitching 'fish' as his makeshift-knife peeled back the layers of thick skin.

  Royce stopped at that, his head tilting inquisitively as he looked at me. He looked at me like that for a long moment before he went back to what he was doing. "Yeah. If you want to start gathering any fallen tree limbs while I cook, I can build one after we eat."

  And just like that, I was off. I didn't want to be around the strange fish anymore than I had to be, anyway. Something about it unnerved me in a way I did not understand.

  Over the course of the next hour, I had accumulated enough felled branches to fuel a small family through a week in the winter and Royce was still struggling with the mystery fish, though he had almost completely skinned it. I did not envy his task- the knife he was using was fashioned from metal shrapnel he had beaten into shape by heating it over the campfire. It was dull, so the work was slow.

  I knew one of my panging ailments would be relieved soon enough, but that still left the issue of another pain in the back of my throat. Part of me hesitated to venture into the forest. Trees soared to great heights beyond the bluffs of the beach, blotting out most of the sunlight.

  Instead, I returned back to the wreckage of our plane. It was perhaps then that was the first time I had caught my reflection since we had arrived. I felt my breath catch in my throat and found myself staring. Not in vanity, I must stress. Perhaps this is the ramblings of an old woman, but I did not appreciate my own youthful beauty when I was younger. I don't think any woman truly does, or at least not the ones in my life. Seeing such a childish face staring back at me… I was almost brought to tears again. I had soft features, a small button nose. Hazel-green eyes, brimmed red, peered intently back at me. It was like seeing an old friend after a very, very long time.

  We are told so many things in our youth, but what is the folly in vanity? In loving oneself as you are? I would not make the same mistake of not appreciating it again.

  I eventually ended my small moment of self-gratification. I managed to break off a piece of metal that could potentially hold water, and another that I could somewhat attach. It took some time, but before long, I had saltwater boiling and the condensation dripping into a makeshift cup for us.

  Royce was finishing with the mystery fish as I finished my project.

  I know I was starving. I know that, because despite the only seasonings being the smoke from the campfire and the salt from the seawater, and despite just how long you had to chew before you could swallow it, the fish was delicious. We didn't talk as we ate. I'm sure he was savoring being able to eat solid food again.

  When he did speak again, he spoke with a sudden intensity that surprised me. "If we are rescued, do we go back to our old bodies?"

  That thought had not occurred to me, not yet. Or I had not allowed it to burden the forefront of my mind. We sat in contemplative silence for a long time. In truth, neither of us had an answer. How could we, when we still did not understand what had happened to us?

  "We should still try." I finally decided. "I've been watching. I haven't seen any airplanes above, or any ships on the horizon. No one could ever see it, but… we could know we at least tried to see Charlotte and Ethan again."

  He nodded solemnly. I'm sure he had already made the same observations.

  Together, we constructed the S.O.S. in the sand, right off the washed up remains of our airplane. Neither of us spoke, but I think we both knew we would be the only ones to ever see it.

  Still, when we were finished, he pulled me to him roughly. He held me, swaying gently, for a long time. When I pulled away, I saw him looking off in the distance, further down the shoreline than either of us had ventured. I don't even think he was aware of it; just staring thoughtlessly.

  I tugged on his sleeve gently to pull his attention back. It was like breaking him out of a trance.

  "I saw something when I was fishing," he murmured. "Something dark, out in the water. A school of fish, maybe? Or something… something very big."

  I felt a shiver pass through me. I thought I had seen dark shadows in the water when I was first searching for him, but I told myself I was imagining things. "I'll keep watch while you fish from now on. We need to be careful."

  He nodded, absentmindedly pressing a kiss to my forehead. We slowly made our way back to our campsite, and I realized he had left another portion of the fish from earlier slow roasting over the fire.

  "Any luck with the mushrooms this morning?" He asked.

  I shook my head. "I don't recognize those- they could be dangerous. Best to stick to what we know."

  He agreed, glancing back towards the water like something called to him. He shook his head as if to clear it.

  Upon inquiry, he laughed. "I must be losing my mind. I thought… I thought I heard a voice. But every time I try to focus, it's gone."

  I did not laugh, nor did I believe my husband to be going mad.

  I did not pretend to know where we had crash-landed. We could very well be a country that would be inhospitable to outsiders, especially ones with less than legal entry. I had even been careful taking a few steps past the shoreline- keeping a keen eye out for the possibility of traps or landmines. If Royce was hearing someone, it could mean trouble for us.

  My husband was the one who had served time in the war and seen the POWs firsthand, so I'm sure the thought had already occurred to him. Part of me wondered if he was remaining upbeat for my sake, or if his newly restored body had him so distracted he did not share the same fears that gripped me. I did not want to ask.

  Enough water had collected in our cup for us to drink. Royce passed the cup to me first, and I tried to offer him a smile but I felt my lip crack as I did. It took great inhibition not to drink the entire thing, but I restrained myself. I tore it away from my lips and passed it to him. After he drank, he collected more saltwater for us to have more.

  The rest of our afternoon was… incredibly blissful. I know how that must sound. But it had been a long time since we had been young.

  Our night was just as peaceful. I appreciated the starlight tonight. They were bright, untouched by any sort of light pollution. Beautiful. We ate our slow-roasted fish, restraining ourselves from drinking the water we collected too quickly. I found myself giggling like a schoolgirl again at my husband's antics and wisecracks.

  He collected seawater once more before we retired to bed.

  ***

  The next morning was not as kind as our last. Royce waded almost up to his waist in the water for nearly three hours. He never caught a thing. We ended up scrounging up a few clams and mussels- enough to stave off the dull pang of hunger.

  I did keep watch this time, never letting him out of my sight as I sifted through the sand. Neither of us saw any dark shapes in the water, though there were a few times we could have sworn we did. It didn’t make any sense, though. If our eyes weren’t playing tricks on us… whatever was moving under the surface of the ocean was almost incomprehensibly large.

  Royce had another moment of absentmindedness- just as I was about to suggest we head to shore. I turned to him, shirt stretched to hold my small batch of shellfish, to find him staring further down the cove, looking completely lost in thought. I called to him twice before he shook his head, again, and smiled at me like everything was alright.

  I wished I could share his positivity. I often had, over the years, but especially now. I suggested we head back, cook what I had gathered. He agreed.

  Shellfish do not take long to cook over an open fire, and it wasn’t long before we were eating again. I don’t know which one of us suggested it first, but by the time we had finished eating, we both had decided to venture a little ways into the forest to try to find something edible, or a water source a little bit more forgiving than our current filtration system.

  He gathered yet another batch of saltwater in case our findings were unfruitful, and we were off.

  It was never our intention to lose our way- though I suppose no one ever sets out to in the first place. Every few feet, Royce marked a tree for us to follow a straight path back. I suppose that’s why we went further than I would have dared on my own.

  It was like a different world under the foliage of the trees. Canopies that stretched up so high I could still barely see them with my neck craned blotted out the sun except in shifting patches. It was quiet; like the roaring waves weren’t crashing against the shore just a few meters away.

  Both of our eyes scanned for traps and landmines, but we never saw any sort of metal nor felt the repercussions of being oblivious to one.

  I think it was Royce who realized something was wrong first. Maybe when the path we were following back started to twist, even though we both thought we had been walking straight.

  Or perhaps I am giving my husband far too much credit, and he did not realize something was horribly wrong until he was pulling me into the knotted roots of the trees and covering my gasps with a firm hand.

  I saw fear on his face for the first time, raw and palpable. It took a few seconds for him to mask it, but it was far too late. I could already feel the prickles of fear beginning to paralyze me. I do not know what it was that made Royce so afraid. He would not tell me. I could not bring myself to press.

  We hid there for a long time. The shadows that I saw pass were… indescribable. I thought I could almost make out human pieces… surely fear was just making the shadow’s ears look so pointed, or their teeth so jagged. And shadows always looked larger than the thing that cast it, that must explain why they completely engulfed us in darkness- I closed my eyes.

  We remained silent and pressed against the floor of the forest for a long time. For what seemed like an eternity after these shadows had passed us by. But finally, Royce tugged me gently and we silently got back to our feet.

  It seemed like another eternity, though, before we could find our way back to the beach. The markings we knew should have been there were simply gone, or several feet off course. We couldn’t hear the waves no matter how hard we strained our ears.

  Just before complete darkness swallowed everything, the forest released us. It quite literally felt like it spit us back out onto our beach- we had been stumbling in the twilight, panic starting to fully set in when my feet hit sand and my knees gave out in relief.

  Our campfire smoldered a few feet away, like it had been waiting for us to return before finally sputtering out and dying.

  I do not want to return to the forest.

  I hope the fish have returned tomorrow.

  ***

  Any shred of hope I had at this being a hospitable land is growing slimmer as the days drag on.

  I am afraid.

  Though I had woken to Royce in the water the past few mornings, this morning was different. We had agreed to only go together. I looked on with a gnawing terror as I realized his spear lay abandoned near the water’s edge, and he was already chest-deep in the unbroken waves.

  My shouting brought him back to his senses. He could not hide the look of shock on his face as he struggled against the tide back towards me. I feared the water too greatly to meet him halfway.

  We did not fish.

  In our trip into the forest, we did not see wildlife, though Royce pointed out signs of them a few times before we had realized how terribly lost we were.

  Our fear outweighed our hunger today.

  I had allowed myself to have delusions of some sort of paradise wherever we had found ourselves trapped, but today... We huddled around the campfire, desperately drinking what little water the steam from boiling yielded.

  Today I let myself pray to be rescued, even if it meant returning to our old, deteriorating bodies and losing myself to an aggressive madness. Today my prayers went unanswered.

  I hope I can sleep through the panging hunger I feel.

  I hope I do not wake to Royce being lost beneath the waves.

  And I hope whatever calls to my husband does not take notice of me, too.