It’s Like Survivor!

      Emily was paid two days ago and she has $6.12 in her bank account today. Some may say being poor brings people to the brink of the dumbest things they will ever do. Emily would agree with those people. However, to my benefit, she has never learned to say no.

      “Wait I think I have like an idea!” Emily looks at me with dead eyes. “What about reality TV?” I suggest. “People become like micro-influencers from stuff like that. We could look at some submission sites! It might actually be fun. We can apply together.”

      “What are the chances they pick both of us?”

      “We could submit our auditions together! That way they know it’s both or neither.”

      “That seems like we’re guaranteeing neither of us would be selected for anything.”

      “So it sounds like there’s no harm.”

      “Sounds like there’s no harm,” Emily settles.

      Emily films one video with me. We make it generic and assign me to submit the video to every reality show taking submissions as possible. We are going to be the next household name for girls aged 15-25. One thing I did not realize was the sheer amount of reality shows you could even apply for. I applied for the classic Bachelor and Bachelorette, Big Brother, Love Island, and all of the household name shows. However, there are hundreds more. I submit for hours until I have a headache from looking at my computer screen and there is a dull stabbing in my back.

Then we wait.

Six months later an email came.

      “It’s like Survivor!”

      “But it’s not Survivor?” Emily asked

      “Well, no.”

      “Is anyone even going to watch this show?”

      “The email says it’s projected to be a big hit!”

      “Okay, can you explain it again?” No backing out now. I press my lips together, but you can still see them stretch across my face and my dimples form.  

      “We go to this island and camp and whoever can live off of the island the longest before forfeiting wins a million dollars.”

      “I don’t think that’s what Survivor is.”

      “Whatever. They want us! It starts filming in one month and we’re off to a remote island.” Emily sat back on the couch and pulled her phone to her face.

      “What do I need to pack?” She says, nose-deep in online shopping.

Emily does not ask what the name of the show is.

We leave on June third. Our flight is delayed three times. We arrived on the island on June 6, 2006. We are standing in a line on the island on June 11th. The full moon. 

There are six men and four women all in the line. The man next to me feels like he is a foot taller than I am. I cannot look at him without craning my neck to the sky. He is small though, and I could wrap my fingers around his wrist like a bracelet. Emily is on my other side and next to her is another man. He is of average height and bald. The woman on the other side of the toothpick of a man is a lean blonde. Probably a Pilates’ instructor. 

“Welcome to Survival!” The host interrupts my thoughts.

      I keep my head straight but I feel Emily’s neck snap so her eyes lock on me. I am definitely going to be the villain. I focus on the man in front of me, he is wearing green cargo shorts, sneakers, a graphic tee, and has frosted tips. I feel like I stepped into MTV. 

      “It’s simple, if you are the last to stay on the island before coming back up to the house and forfeiting, you win a million dollars. There is a roll call every day where we will gather everyone together to see who is still in the competition. The game goes on until there is one person left. If you are the last left at roll call – you just became a millionaire.”

      Everyone cheers. We turn around to 10 large men with 10 large cameras all pointed at us. The host pulls out a cell phone, starts texting vigorously, and walks away. Everyone walks to the cameraman in front of him or her. I stand there staring for a moment.

      “Survival?” Emily whispers in a way that feels more like a yell.

      “Girl it’s not that serious. I told you it’s like Survivor.”

      “No, it is not” Emily walks toward her cameraman. I stay staring at mine, and he sighs. Villain. He steps with his left foot first and he walks to me.  

      “I’m most excited to be a millionaire,” I tell the camera.

      They do not provide us with anything; I did not read that in the description. Not even a bottle of water? Maybe this won’t take that long. Every step we take the cameramen are no more than 10 paces behind us.

      “I do not want to do this.”

      “Emily – it is a million dollars.”

      “I think I want to give up anyway.”

      “Girl – shut the fuck up. I’ll let you win if we’re the last two.”

      “No, you won't.”

      “Have I ever lied to you?”

      “Honestly, I don’t know.”

      “I think it’s safe to agree I haven’t then”

      “You’re right.” You are done, got it. 

      “I love you.”

      “I love you too.” Emily’s voice is sweet when she says it, like strawberry ice cream. 

      The ground is rough; the roots of the trees tangle in the grass. I should be wearing an ankle brace. We tiptoe over the trees, our necks swinging round like an owl. How deep are we?

      “There is nowhere to camp.”

“We don’t have a tent.”

 “I’ve seen movies where the leaves are so big you can use them as your tents.”

“But the leaves on the trees aren’t like that.” Emily’s voice is blank. “We need a fire. I am kind of cold and I don’t think we’re going to just run into something to use to make a tent. I think we’d need to build something from large logs.”

      “What? Were you like a girl scout or something?”

      She does not answer me. Emily meanders with her eyes locked on her feet to look for logs to make the fire. Her cameraman follows her.

Emily lugs back one large log.

“Break this.”

“How?”

“I don’t know.” Emily walks away.

I slam the log on the ground. It cracks but does not break. I pick it up and slam it down again. It cracks this time. I get on my hands and knees and begin to dig a pit in the ground. Dirt jams in my nails. I am going to break a nail. This bitch. Where the fuck is she. Why is she in such a mood? 

Emily comes back carrying an armful of twigs. She drops them to the ground, gets on her knees next to me, and starts digging with her hands in silence. The fuck is wrong with her. 

“How are you going to spend your million dollars?”

“I’m not, we’re not winning this.”

“Why are you being like this?”

“Don’t you get it, no one is winning this.”

The sun has started to set and the sky is bright red behind the trees.

My cameraman’s large arm is wrapped around my neck; he is using his hand, which is larger than my face, to gag my mouth. I try to bite down, but it does not seem to bother him. He drags me in a headlock. I try screaming but the muffled cries only make a sound in my head. I kick and flail but he drags me.

      I passed out. Or I was knocked out. I am tied to a pole. The ten of us are tied to a pole. I was knocked out. I am tied to a pole. We are tied to a pole. Emily is tied to a pole. I can barely move my head from side to side but Emily is next to me. Her eyes are puffy. Emily was crying. Is crying? My cheeks are damp. I am crying. There are ten of us who circle a large bonfire; I do not know why we are in gags. I doubt anyone other than those who are here can hear us. 

They do not want to hear us cry.

      “Welcome to roll call.”

The host’s smile covers half his face and I can see both rows of his teeth. His hands flail like a magician displaying the end of the trick. He is still in the same outfit under his robe that hangs open, unlike the rest of the men, and his hair is still spiked. Not one strand is out of place. “This is the end of the game.” I glance around the circle and every single eye is on the host. The lean blonde girl’s eyes expand, as if they were going to pop out of her head. The bald man whips his head back and forth. I don’t think anyone wins this. The cameramen step out from behind their contestants, but they are not carrying their cameras. They are dressed in long red robes; they look like velvet in the way they reflect the moonlight.

      The bald contestant stops whipping his head back and forth. He is directly across from me. He lunges at his cameraman and I can see the ropes constrict around his wrists that are pinned to his hips. The host walks over to him. He is standing nose to chin.

The host is quite short.

“You lose,” the host says. He takes a knife to his throat. I feel my stomach flip. The blood is darker than the color of the robes. It floods out over his body. I watch the entire circle’s eyes open wider. Emily stay still. The girl next to him screams I do not remember her from this morning in the lineup. She is muffled, but loud enough I hear the high pitch across the bonfire. The host takes a step to his left. They are nose to nose. “You lose.” Knife. Blood. He turns and looks at me across the fire. His face is lit with a romantic orange light. His lips stretch across his face, and his eyebrows drop. He looks through me. The light seems more sinister with this face.

“The game is over.”

      The fire grows; it looks like it is going to burn the stars right out of the sky. The remaining cameramen step in front of us. I look up at the moon, begging any Deity to save Emily. I reach out my hand; Emily grabs it and squeezes it three times.

      Knives. Blood.