A Memorable Trip

Dear reader,

I’m writing from the middle of nowhere. The middle of nowhere is a small island—160 paces long and 89 paces wide to be precise—that I like to call “Hell.” I have now been on this island for... two weeks? Three?

The main reason I’m writing is to keep my head off the thought—I take that back, the certainty—that I’m going to die. I gathered the last bit of strength left in my body, and I picked up this diary.

Maybe I should start with who I am. My name is Craig Adkins. I was born in New York City. My father was a lawyer, and he had always wanted me to follow in his footsteps. That’s why, after finishing high school, I went to law school. I got through it without much difficulty and became the lawyer my dad wanted me to be. I worked in one of the biggest firms in New York for almost fifteen years. I hated it. Every aspect of it. I quit when I was thirty-eight and became a librarian. My father despised me for it and called me weak-minded. I always thought he was the weak-minded one for not understanding the beauty and power of books. He died when I was forty-four. I didn’t cry.

In high school, I was what you’d call a bookworm. I used to spend hours by myself, setting sails for hundreds of new horizons. I didn’t have a lot of friends. My friends were the characters in my books. That’s why I became a librarian. I love being around books. I love their smell and the mystery that radiates from each one, as if it was calling you, daring you to open it.

Traveling was all I ever wanted to do. I did a fair share of that through reading. But, I’ve always wanted to discover some truly exotic place, somewhere very few people had been to, a magical scenery with wonderful colors that had not been spoiled by anyone else’s eyes. Well, I believe I have everything I need in this respect.

I made it to this little safe heaven on a lifeboat—this is where I found the journal and the pencil—after our boat sank. I have no idea why it did. One moment I was reading on my bed, and the next, people were screaming, glass was flying, and the boat was rocking alarmingly. I ran to the dock. I don’t recall much of what happened next—there was so much confusion—but I do remember ending up on a lifeboat, drifting in the middle of the sea, terrified. I prayed for hours for an island to appear. You can imagine how happy and relieved I felt when I wound up here. It’s paradoxical, isn’t it... since the only thing I want more than food now is to leave this bloody island. I guess you always want what you don’t have.

I had always wanted to travel—as I believe I’ve already mentioned. The boat was supposed to bring us to Haelin, the island of my wildest dreams. Exotic, wild, magical. To think that I came so close to achieving my lifelong dream, and that I’m going to die before having the chance to explore Haelin, is breaking my heart! Well, in a sense, my dream did come true. Here I am, on a deserted island, and I am the first person who's had the opportunity to discover it! I have to be honest: it’s not what I had in mind.

I never thought I’d miss my old life so much. It seems like it was a thousand years ago. I would have given anything at the time to leave my suburban life. That’s what I said to Dave two months ago. Dave is David Hartley, my best friend. If I had known “anything” meant this...

You might be wondering why I’m so sure I’m going to die. Well, believe me when I say this island is barren. On my fourth day on the island, I did manage to catch a fish. I found a sharp knife on the lifeboat. After waiting for hours under the blazing sun—four, five, who’s counting anyways,—and missing the first fish I tried to catch, I finally stabbed one. It was small, and I was sunburned, but it was worth it. It was the best fish I’ve ever had. I was never a massive fan of seafood. Now, it’s my favorite thing on Earth. Did you know that fish eyes taste amazing?

I caught another fish a few days later. Even smaller. And since then, nothing. I spend most of my days waiting. My energy is getting low, and I can feel death approaching.

I’d lie if I said I had completely abandoned the idea that someone might come and rescue me. I heard a plane one day. I looked for it in the sky, but couldn’t see it. I kept hearing it, though, as if it was coming closer. I yelled and yelled and called. I still couldn’t see anything. Then, the sound just faded. Maybe it was just my imagination. I cried.

I made a sign with rocks at the utmost point of the beach (a pile of sand ten feet higher than the rest of the island). It spells SOS. I wanted to make sure that when the plane came back, it wouldn’t miss me. Well, I guess it didn’t come back. Or, it did miss me...

Which brings me to now. I’m not even hungry anymore. All I can think about is water—which is funny since there’s so much around me. I saw a crab earlier. I started crawling toward it. I blinked, and it was gone.

(Later)

I fainted. It’s been happening every day now. I’m starting to think that death might not be as scary as I thought. I just hope it’ll come fast. I don’t want to suffer more than I already have.

I don't have enough energy to keep writing and I believe you know everything you need to know about me.

Goodbye, dear reader.

Note: this journal was found on June 26th, next to the lifeless body of Mr. Craig Adkins, a victim of the tragic sinking of the Miracle on June 1st.