Stranded

Dear Journal, 

I’ve been here a while. 

I’m not sure how long, exactly. When I arrived here I wasn’t exactly in a logical state of mind. 

To be honest, I’ve lost all hope of returning home, or even talking to another person again. At least there are no taxes here. This could be the perfect vacation spot, but all I think of when I look into the horizon is how Hell would slightly resemble this place. Funny how perspectives can change so suddenly. For water and food I’ve been relying on a bush of flowers, they produce purple berries. Yesterday, (at least I think it was yesterday) I started a religion solely for entertainment purposes. I basically thank the plants every time I eat the berries (If anyone asks, I’m sleep deprived.). I might not have made it through the first couple of days if I hadn’t found this flower. So yes, I owe my life to a plant. I was stupid enough to forget my shoes when we evacuated the boat. How I miss them. My shelter is pathetic, but it’s a roof over my head. Thanks Bear Grylls. My phone is broken, whoever said it was waterproof lied. I didn’t know I could be more bored than I was at work, but here we are. If you think you’re bored, try living on a f*****g island with no f*****g friends. Sorry, I’m losing it here. Anyway, I’ll write to you again tomorrow. 

See ya 

I set the journal down. I sit up and brush the warm sand off my shirt. The sun warms my skin. I have to say, the realization that you’re alone and no one will ever save you isn’t the best way to start your day. I don’t think I’d even mind having my *extremely* annoying coworker, Jack, here. At least he responds, unlike the Almighty Flower (apologies if that insulted you O’great one). Yes, I am taking this plant worshipping thing seriously. I stand up and stretch. My arms are a bright red. Thanks to the sun, my skin is going to hurt like hell for the next week. I make my way back to the pile of branches I call a shelter. My stomach growled. I plucked a few berries from the flowers.

“Thank you for your sacrifice O’brilliant flower.” I shoveled the fruit down my throat. They were bitter and had a strange aftertaste. Despite the odd taste, the berries were still refreshing and hydrating. I walked back down to the beach, where I wrote S.O.S extremely large in the sand. Hopefully someone would see it, after all, isn’t that always how the protagonists in movies got rescued? It was around midday, but I was tired. All this worrying got to me. I lay back down in the sand and closed my eyes. 

It wasn’t stormy. In fact, it was sunny outside. No wind, no rain, no clouds. I was on a cruise ship, headed for an island I forgot the name of. It was exotic, a hidden gem. It was for my sister’s wedding. She was on the cruise too along with Pete, my dog. I don’t know what happened. One minute we were drinking champagne and laughing about old times and the next we were on a life raft floating to our certain dooms. What happened? I strained to remember, strained to dig up the memory. I vaguely recall being pushed off the boat by Susie’s dumb fiancé. I have to say, I never really liked him. If I ever get off this island, I’m suing him. Plus, thinking about all the ways I could sue someone seems like a pretty productive way to pass the time. I hope Pete’s okay. I forgot whether or not they let him on the lifeboat. They must have, I wouldn’t have gotten on if they didn’t. 

I open my eyes. The brightness of the sun almost blinds me. Something was soaking into my sleeve. Great, bird poop. I put sand on it and rub it off. If I had been pooped on by a bird, back when I was living in the city I would have freaked. Honestly, I would probably never wear this shirt again. It surprises me how little I react to things now. It’s amazing how I’m no longer afraid of spiders. It’s getting cold, so I decide to head back to base. When I arrive, I worship the flower, make my bed-of-leaves, and pluck some berries. The fruits were running low, so I decided to start rationing. Oh how I miss McDonalds. I pick up my journal. 

Robot War:

It’s the year 2099, and war has struck millions. 

I’ve always liked writing fiction, though these days it’s not like I’m feeling very creative, with dehydration and all. 

The war wasn’t started by mankind, but instead, robots. The sky is grey, the grass is blue, and the world has turned upside down. 

I’m disrupted by a large sound. The ground starts shaking, and a few trees farther away from me fall. The air smells slightly like smoke, and it’s considerably warmer than it was a few moments ago. Oh sh*t. 

The volcano is far from me, but I honestly have no clue how far lava travels. I ducked into my shelter, my heart beating like a drum inside my chest. A few stressful minutes pass. 

The shaking eventually stops, and the island is still again. I step outside. Overreacting is apparently my favorite thing to do. I look up at the clear blue sky and take a breath of air. It’s much cleaner here than in New York. The palm trees wave at me, silently acknowledging my presence. Maybe this place isn’t so bad after all. Don’t people willingly disappear from civilization? I missed Pete though. If he were here, it would almost be paradise.

But then again, I do miss society.

So for now, I lay down in my makeshift bed and dream of home.

Maybe some day I'll get back.