A Crash that Left him Stranded


A Crash that Left him Stranded 
log 1)

The plane I was on crashed landed upon an island. I am the only survivor and it has been fifteen days. The only lucky thing of this is not all the food burned up in the crash. But I did not go unscathed, much of my body is burned, I am hoping the salt water is enough to sustain the wounds from festering.

 But I fear they may be beyond repair. How much longer I have, I cannot say? But the agony of my burns is only increasing as the days go on. Sleep as been horrific, I am in constant nightmares and waking to sweat.

 Keeping hydrated is most difficult as I must drink the rain water. I have built a small bowl in the sand just outside my sleeping quarters to catch water. I have sewn leaves together with thread I had found in luggage that dropped from the plan.

 I placed them in the sand as to help sustain as much water as possible. I am no seamstress so the water slowly seeps through into the sand. But it has been enough to get me through the days so far. So far it has rained five days out the fifteen I have been here for.

 My watch still works, which is a plus and also a mental tug. As the longer I remain here the longer the days seem to get. My body aches as if I am being pricked with needles at every moment. Some days are worse than others, where the pain is too much to bear and I vomit.

 And the constant wind does not help. The forestry that sprouts from the island is dense, but I fear there may be more than meets the eye here. I do not know what animals live within these woods, so I dare not rest within them.

 At least on the coast line I know I have the water to escape whatever may wish to devour me. Being wounded I am sure will only entice whatever beasts roam this island. How far I am from home, I do not know? I was on a trip to London and had fell asleep.

 At least ten hours into the flight and sadly, I am not one for navigation or geography. So I must do my best to keep alive, at some point I shall get rescued right or, so I wish?

log 2)

 Twenty three days in and my burns do not appear to be healing adequately. I can feel my skin as if it is pulling taut like a too tight of clothes. Scabs are forming but so are unwelcome blisters. Yesterday I decided to venture into the woods in hopes to find something to eat besides the occasional fish that either rolls up on shore or gets pooled up during the tide.

  I am trying to design a fishing pull but I cannot figure out for the life of me how to make a strong enough string. I tried the thread I have but, it is too weak and I have nothing to create a hook. And unfortunately the plane had crashed just far enough off shore that it drifted and sank out of sight.

 So there is no chance of gathering new supplies. Twenty three days and I have lost eight pounds at least. I can almost see my ribs. Hunger is every day since I do not achieve adequate substance to maintain a healthy state.

 Hydration is no longer an issue as I have found a watering hole just a quarter mile inward. But I have also found something eerie, something greatly disturbing. A body hangs from a tree as if in the form of an execution about twenty yards south of the watering whole.

 The sun is never my friend during the day as it basks on my living quarters at all hours. I am beginning to feel the damage it has caused substantially. For weeks I thought it was the damaged tissue of my burns but the sun has only doubled the damage to my body now.

 And with no sunscreen I am surely going to die.

log 3)

 Day thirty six, I am erratic in my logging due to limited space to write. A journal had washed up shore on day four and it is only fifty two pages. I dare not waste it, for it may be of value at some point. How have I kept warm you might be thinking, oddly enough inside the left over luggage I found an emergency blanket and I stoke a small fire using what dry wood I can find.

 I pitch the blanket like a tent, cover the sides with branches with thick vegetation then light a small fire just inside. It doesn't last long but, long enough for me to fall asleep in some warmth. I can now clearly see my ribs and my burns are now festering horribly. Some areas have clearly healed, but poorly.

 My daily baths in the ocean have either hindered the healing process or have allowed me to remain alive for as long as I have. The cold temperature of the water as well may have a factor to it. The numbness causes quiet the soothing factor of my body.

 But only for so long. Fevers are becoming constant now. The nightmares persist, and last night I swore I heard the sound of a horn being blown. Like a horn for battle.

log 4)

 Day forty two, I am feeling lonely, ill at every inch of my body. It is becoming difficult to stay  awake. I am not sure if I am seeing things but the other morning I saw someone or something peer from the woods down a ways from me. It looked like a person, but I could be wrong. Maybe a tree branch swaying in the wind.

 My illness is making difficult to see. I am too tired to eat or rest peacefully. Even my hands are becoming cumbersome to use.

log 5)

 Day forty six, I now have clearly seen someone appear from the woods. Their faces painted with what looks like some sort of white and black powder. There were two, both holding spears about hundred yards down shore.

 I know they saw me as they stood there motionless, I could feel them looking at me. My skin crawled and my heart took with fear. As I do not know if they wish me harm or are curious of my existence.

 For now, I am going to remain reclusive to them. I am too frail to attempt any defense if needed and I do not have the strength to relocate. I will surely die, all I can as of now is move from my sleeping quarters to laying on the sand allowing the ocean to wash over me a few times. Only to crawl my way back as hunger, sickness, and body pains wither my energy.


log 6)

 Day forty nine, I am being approached as I write this, five males painted head to toe and nude carrying spears. They are much taller than me, slender but athletic.

They are now close enough to see clearly, at least twenty yards from me. I must write quickly, their eyes are cold. Their faces expressionless, they are speaking to me in a tongue I do not know. Nothing I have ever heard before.

 They are now only ten yards away I can smell them. They smell of tree bark and body odor. Maybe travelers from the other side of the island. Wait.....one is aiming their spear at me, his arm is back as if ready to throw.

 The other one is circling to my right. My heart is beating, I must try and communicate. Wait....they are charging me....


log 7)

Day fifty-three

Dear god, I thought I was done for. It turns out they had been hunting a large feline that happened to be stalking me from behind. The warrior with the spear was not aiming at me, but rather the feline. After killing the beast they approached me and examined me as if a strange creature.

 After a few minutes of their investigation they began to speak to me. Surely asking me question and wondering where I came from. I did my best to tell them, I used my paper and drew what happened. They understood or so, I think.

 After we communicated, they took me to the other side of the island. About a three and a half hour trek. I could barely walk or see. They helped as much as they could while baring the weight of their kill. We reached their village. There, I was treated for the first hour as something foreign to earth.

 Later, they welcomed me with meals, soups, meats, and a place to rest. They even helped remedy my illness and cease the agony of my burns. Four days here and they have been so kind, so generous. Home may be possible now.

 log 8)

   Day fifty-seven

 I have spoken or rather, have drawn my new fellow friends what I wish from them. Their help to get me home. And after much filtering of language barriers they have come to understand. They say we are only eight hours from  mainland by boat.

 Tonight we sail to the open ocean and drop me off. But I am warned to never speak of their existence nor the islands location. For they have spent years creating the island be invisible to those who have not seen it.

 log 9)

 Day fifty-eight

 We are on the boat and headed to the mainland. We are three hours in and I cannot begin to explain the happiness I feel. The excitement to get home, to find my way back to my own bed, eat my own food and actually cook without the need of fire.

 Seven hours in, my heart is racing, I can see the mainland. It has high cliffs that expand for miles. There is a light house to our east. And what looks like a possible trail that leads to the light house.

 We are now eyes view from the shore, ten more minutes, I would say. A clear beach lays at the foot of the cliff beneath the light house.

 I have now dismounted the boat and gave my respects. I am making my way up to the lighthouse. A dog is running towards me, I must stop writing for now.

  log 6)

 Day, I have lost count, I am starving, hanging on by a thread, today I was woken up by a feline licking my face. I am beginning to fear home is out of my reach as I can barely move and not even a wild beast wishes to eat me. It must be since my illness, my eyes are extremely heavy today and may heart to slow.

 I wonder how much time I have left.....
---
Did you enjoy this story? 
Did you like the ending?

Please let me know!

We can survivor more than we think,  A Man's Traveled Heart
Coming soon, The Bleeding Of Words

Find more of me on,  TwitterFacebookInstagramYouTube

Thank you for your support! 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Sophia's Love

A Pocket Flower

The Moles Never Learn