Dallin Island

In the middle of a turbulent sea, is an island, filled with children, to be reabhilitaited, all have done abd thigns, some are even murderers, except Damien, who has been there since he was a baby. And as he grows older, the more he realises the horror he's caught up in.

Note: This is very silly, which is why it's hard to keep writing, lets see if others can join me.

3rd January 1994.


The air was stiff with salt. Fog hung low over a gloomy scene, the cold scrabbled through the grey mist and clung onto each thing scrap of child.  All boys, the girls had already been sent. Some were tall gangly creatures, with heavy shallow eyes and loose limbs, then there were the smaller population, frightened faces looking round desperately, taking in each frightening and strange detail. They cowered as a dark shadow limped towards them in the fog. Captain McEwen gazed on the faces and shook his head. This wasn’t right, he shouldn’t be doing this. He shook his head again, long matted locks spitting on the occupants of the boat.   He clambered across the wooden hull and made his to the controls, he turned the key when a persistent clack arose, louder and louder until he heard it on the end of the pier.

“Wait! WAIT! I have one more for you.”

The captain turned round to see a tall blonde woman standing in the mist, a strait-laced expression painted upon her stiff features.

“Don’t see any child with you m’am”

The woman shoved a cloth into his hands, he blinked at it, wondering if the woman was deranged, then the bundle started to move. He gingerly moved the corner, half knowing what lay beneath.

Pure white skin, clashing with the filthy rag, two red eyes squeezed in pain, as the tiny body tried to fight the cold, jet black hair had already started sprouting on his head. The captain shot a freezing look at the woman.

“Listen lady, it’s bad enough sending 10 year olds, but I refuse to take a baby of barely 2 weeks.”

“ He’s already been approved, and if you look on his back you’ll see why.”

The woman turned on her heels and started back off the pier, the clacking slowly drifting off in the wind. The Captain turned the young boy other to see what she meant.

He nearly dropped the baby.

There, on the boys back, was a birthmark, red, a five point star, crossing it’s own lines, in a circle.

The mark of the devil.

The bewildered captain stared helplessly at the boy, and for a moment, he saw the boy glaring straight back at him, showing an already perfect set of white, pointed teeth.

Shaking, The captain handed the boy to one of its occupants, and then started up the boat.




18th march. 2009


Damian’s eyes flicked open, he glanced wildly from side to side before slowly rising from his bed. He took a quick tour of the dormitory, at all the sleeping forms. Some had been there for just a few days, some for years. No one as long as him though, all his life 15 whole years spent on this Island. He was in the first boat to be sent. And the only one left from it.

Dallin Island, the “Reform” Island, more like the “Torture island” Where children who wee considered to be evil or rebellious where sent for reform, some left, most didn’t. There were a few runaways that had been discovered, and a handful of orphans. The 2nd youngest kid to of been sent had been a 7 year old boy, he was found with a street gang, he was going to be on of the kids that didn’t leave until they were 18. When they were summoned to be sent back to civilisation, if they were considered to be fit for it. There were many theories about what went on in that quaint little cottage; some believed they had their memories wiped so no one could find out about Dallin, and then there was the “Red wall theory”. A rumour had begun to circle, when you got to 18 you’re “Time was up.” you’d had long enough to be reformed and that was it, so they lined the new men up, and they were shot, splattering the walls with blood. 

Damian shivered as he changed from his regulation pyjamas into his regulated clothes, grey sweatshirt and grey joggers. He knew he’d been sent here as a baby, because he was considered to be a devil child. Did that mean he could never be reformed? That he was destined for the red wall theory?

He pushed the thought out of his mind as he pulled on his regulation clothes, grey shorts and a grey polo. No logo, no colour, just scraps of cotton that show no individuality.  Then he reached for the thing that he grasped most of his identity from, the thing that shocked all the boys for him to have.

A metallic cross on a black string, the cross was gothic style, the one memento of the life he could have had had it not been for the mark that was on his back.

He stared at himself in the cracked mirror. His glacier skin, which matched his frosty expression, but then there were the startling red eyes, blood red, like two painful drops of anothers blood. All this could’ve of been explained about, an albino, Simple. Only it wasn’t so, Albino’s had white hair; Damian had a thick bush of jet-black locks. Heavy and tangled, he’d cut it to a short cut at the back, at the front two long dips of hair fell either side of his face. He allowed himself a cool smirk. Damian. That said it all. Most names were the brands of a mother, like a seal to say you were once connected to her, but there was no such seal on Damian. It was given to him when he arrived, given by smirking teenagers and vicious guards. His name was simply a long running joke.

Damian was a mystery. Nobody could explain him, even the people who would dismiss any superstitions were baffled by the empty boy, and only they could think of one answer.

The devil’s son.

The mark that had sealed this reasoning also lengthened the mystery, most birthmarks stayed the same size all through the life of he bearer. But the mark, the star in the circle, grew with the boy. Always swamping each orifice of the white skin.

He couldn’t even argue that the physical features gave them no reason to brand him this way any more. He’d grown now, and didn’t know what into. His temper roared like a vicious beast, flying at any that dared to approach it, his habits became evil bullying, plotting, and once he even attacked a guard with the paper cup he had, the normal, fairly weak boy, grew superhuman strength.

That guard had left now.

The End

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