'We have to find Taylor!' I cried as a girl a year or two younger than me held me up. I think her name was Trixie. She looked at me strangely.
'Wait-who's Taylor?' she looked me up and down briefly. 'And if your helicopter crashed-'
'It's not mine' I said, taking a step of my own. I felt...stronger. As if just stepping on the sand had given me strength.
'If this helicopter crashed,' Trixie carried on. 'Surely you would be wounded? I should think most people wouldn't be able to just get up and walk about...'
I turned my hands over. No scratches. I seemed to be completely bruise, cut and scab free. Even on my knee, where I'd cut myself earlier escaping. There was a definate gash there just an hour ago...
'Hey!' Trixie seemed pleased, as if she'd worked out some big problem. 'Maybe this is your power! Maybe you can heal!'
'I'm sorry. WHAT?' Was this girl insane? I don;t have powers...though this would explain things. I picked up a nearby shell and cut my finger with the sharp edge. Blood rose to the wound but then died down as my skin fused back together, as if by magic.
'Woah,' I felt completely overwhelmed by all of this information. As if my head hadn't been spinning enough by the fact that earlier today I stole a painting, and a helicopter, crashed on a weird island and lost Taylor (please don't let him be dead). Now I had some spiritual power? 'I feel. Funny.' and with this I lost my balance and came crashing to the sand.