one cast away

The one cast away

What makes a person ? The people they meet, the way they’re brought up, or the experiences they go through ?
Castaway … lost, bedraggled, dirty, confused, worried, hurting … scared …? What am I, all of them maybe, but am I scared ? Scared of a beautiful glittering ocean and the sound of the palm trees swishing in the warm breeze behind me, scared of the horizon that I look out at ? Yes I am lost, dirty, ha! Confused yes … but I’m not scared. No. at this moment in time I had never been less scared in my life.

  I always had a wild dream to be shipwrecked, get lost on a deserted island on my own. To hunt for myself, provide for myself. To build my own place to live and be the centre of life, to make up my own rules and be who I always wanted to be but never got the chance.
I could have been Jesse … wild, untameable, amazing. Trapped in a world of my own and glad of that fact.
Because I am, now, glad I mean.
I may not be wild and untameable yet but I’m getting there. Kind of.
I decided, because I’m alone, to start a diary, a place to store all of the things I find, what I do, where I do it and how.
All I can think is ‘wow, an adventure, something that can entertain my mind and body in this other wise dreary lifestyle.’ And that is all.

*  *  *

  So, day 1 I guess, although I have been here a while, a few days I think, so more around day 3 what can I say I’m not keeping track. What should I start off with ? how I got here I suppose … I wasn’t in a plane crash or on a cruise and fell over board it’s stupid really, how I got here, how I ended up here. Now I think about it it’s really stupid. The only thing I know is that I’m some where off the coast of Madagascar I cant remember the name of the island we were on already … we were on holiday, mum, dad and me, it was great; Madagascar for 3 weeks  yes! We were on the beach swimming, I had one of those dingy things with a paddle I was just floating along I hadn’t realised how far out I actually was. no one could see me. when the tide caught me I screamed, my dad shouted for the lifeguard but I was too far out. All I could hear was screaming, the water was turning rough throwing me off balance. All I could think of was trying to get back to shore; to my parents. All I could see was blue …  I panicked, the dingy rocked and I slipped in to the cold water (a shock to me, dad said it was warm …) I tried to keep my head above the swirling water but it felt like something was there trying to pull me under I had to breathe but I sucked in a lungful of salty, blue liquid coughing the ocean from my lungs I scrambled for the dingy hauling my self on to it and, still fighting for a decent amount of air, I blacked out … And ended up here.

  I woke up dazed and sandy, covered from head to foot in clingy black-green seaweed. I soon got up, and looked around at the palm trees and the ocean shimmering in the sunset I did a double take at that, sun set ? We’d been on the beach at 10o’clock in the morning and in January the sun sets at 6:30 pm so I’d been floating for 8 hours ?! Adequate time to go anywhere …

  I slept in the dingy that night, I found it had drifted along the shore not to far from where I had washed up, I was still tired even after the 8 hour KO so I forgot about my worries of getting home and just thought about sleep …
The next morning however those worries came back with vengeance all I could think was what were my mum and dad doing? How was I going to get home ? Were they looking for me ? What could I eat where would I sleep who would I talk to ARRGGHH! I had no answers to those questions … it was time to make some.

Day 2

  I slept well last night; though my throat was still scratchy from the water I had inhaled, I had no need to speak out loud so I barely felt it. I can’t say I enjoyed the rain this morning, heavy and cool but the sound woke me although it was mildly comforting; it reminded me of home and the damp and cold weather we were most likely having in England this January. I woke at the beginning and the first thought in my head was rain = water. I searched around and saw long droopy leaves hanging down from an unimaginably large tree, I quickly ran to the tree and pulled off a leaf aiming it so that the rain water would collect in my mouth I tipped my head back and savoured the taste of cool fresh water if only for a minute. It then struck me that if I could find some thing to gather the rain in I would have a water supply ! By this time the rain had stopped but I wondered around the island looking at the trees but not daring to go more than a few feet in to their murky depths and hoping that I would be so lucky as to find a banana tree to eat from … I wasn’t, to my dismay. I did however, find a small stream of water that ran to the sea, at this point I was so hot and thirsty I thought the sight was a figure of my imagination, I drank greedily letting the silky smooth water run down my throat and banish the dehydration that I was sure would kill me.

  The island was huge! I hadn’t really explored it before I just stayed put under a shady patch of trees with my now bedraggled looking dingy, but now a good few hours later I hadn’t come back to my shady patch.

  I decided to make a shelter near to the water but within sight of the sea. I walked slowly in to the trees and instantly got cooler, my tattered clothes were hanging by threads so I decided to take them off and use them as ropes for my shelter, they would also soak up the rain water if I needed it.  I ripped my clothes in to lengths of cloth and went hunting for a sharp rock that I could use to cut the branches of trees that I couldn’t snap off.

  A few hours later I had constructed a wonky looking but relatively stable roof a few feet over my head. The four corners were tied to trees in a rough square by the strips of cloth, the spare cloth I had used to lash together broken branches and other sticks to form a hash pattern then I laid weaved flat palm leaves on top of that. Hopefully the structure would hold off the rain but if not the tree canopy would filter the water away, any way my little area should stay dry.

  After a day working to construct my masterpiece I was tired, sweaty and most of all hungry
.
  I walked down to the beach and stared out at the sea, the sudden longing to see my parents hit me, hard, and my heart wrenched. Before I knew it I was on my knees crying out broken sobs, i crawled closer to the sea my hands sinking in to the soft white sand feeling all of the tiny grains and minute shells beneath them. I breathed in the smell of the salty warm water, I let it wash over my hands and knees, like bath water even though the sun was almost setting. I lay back and floated on my back in the shallow water, my hair strewn out around my head and large tears slid none stop down my face dampening my cheeks and  running in to my ears, I just lay there and let this emotion run its course.

*  *  *

  I watched the sun disappear behind the wispy clouds on the horizon my wet hair, slowly drying in the humidity, was slung over my right shoulder, and, as I curled up against the cold breeze that swept through the trees, for the first time, and probably not the last time, whilst on my island I felt alone … and … scared.

Day three

  It rained last night. It woke me up just before sun rise, I could see the hazy rainbows that formed in the mist in front of my eyes but the rythmatic drumming sent me back to sleep just as soon. When I did wake up again I found that my make shift roof had held up against the rain, that put a smile on my face for a while, until I realised that I was still alone, still not being rescued, and still had not had food in over 2 days. I was starving.

  I went to get some water from the stream and washed my face to cool off in the already boiling mid morning sun. After a drink I cut a good sized branch off of a near by tree and sharpened the end with my cutting rock to form a short but sharp spear, happy with my work I crept in to the trees spear at the ready if anything should attack and keeping my eyes peeled for anything remotely edible.

  As I walked father in to the trees I could hear the sounds of all the animals on the island echoing around me. The sharp high call of one bird blending to the low resonating pitch of another. I felt relaxed and awed by the amount of life around me, I realised that I was looking up at the tops of the trees, stood there with my spear hanging by my side, a brightly coloured bird flew over my head making me jump and startling me in to movement through the forest. I looked around and made slow progress towards the core of the island and a blessed sight greeted me when I looked up at the top of one slim but stout trunk…. Bananas ! I clambered up the tree bare footed, bare handed and sliced my palm open on the way but finally pulling off the nearest bunch of fruit, I leapt down and knelt on the ground ripping the skin off and tearing in to the deliciously ripe and tender flesh, my mouth watering. I ate until my stomach hurt and I was satisfied. Bananas had never been my favourite fruit but I could never have dreamed of a more life saving moment on which to gorge those stupidly shaped, bright yellow, comical and, ultimately, delicious things.

  As I went further in to the trees and in to the darkness that enveloped me I found more banana trees than I could have imagined in that moment I only wished for one thing, my family here sharing my joy.

  Many hours later, after gathering as much fruit as possible and bringing it all back to my camp site, I was sat watching the sun set and thinking about all that I had done on the first few days of island life … I had found water and, finally, food, I had made my own shelter and tools and … I had survived. I felt proud of my achievements and almost happy that I got stranded here in the first place. I decided to go for a swim, the water looked golden blue and inviting I wanted to just lie there and stare up at the sky. I waded in to the water and sat down again when it was just past my knees, the warm salty smell drifted up in to my nostrils and filled my mouth, I saw a fish swim past me and it struck me that if I could catch a fish then I could eat it. I walked out of the water and got my cutting rock then waded back in and floated on my front with the rock raised at my side. I kept still. A fish darted, I made a grab, no … to slow. Again a fish swam near to my still form, it was a good size; about as long as my hand and as fat as my fore arm, I was ready, I bided my time until the right moment … then BAM my left hand shot out and clutched at the slippery fish and simultaneously the rock held in my right hand came down, hard, on the fishes struggling head. I bought it out of the water and held it in both hands, its limp body twitched once the tail flapped and then it was still. I realised my victory and jumped in the still water shouting and whooping until my voice was hoarse and the clear water had gone cloudy with the light brown silt and sand I was stirring up.

  I brought my prize back to shore and turned to watch the last rays of sun flash and disappear behind the horizon.

Day 4
  So I’d caught my fish. Great. Except for the fact that I do not have a fire to cook it on … this should be good.

  I went in to this making a fire business with gay abandonment … I collected dry twigs and leaves to make the kindle and put them in a tepee shape, I gathered some stones and shells and made a large circle around my kindle so that the fire wouldn’t get out of hand and set alight my den, I then hunted around the forest in search of some dry bark on which to start my fire.

  After a few minutes of searching I was surprised to find a large fallen tree dried up with the bark just waiting to be ripped off and used in my fire, and so I did.

  I walked around a bit and gathered what little dry wood I could find, I had got to know the forest quite well; if I headed to the left of that tree with the broken branch I would go straight back to my den and I could find a banana tree or two if I followed the narrow but just visible gap in between the large thick trunks of each palm tree that made an eerily natural path way.

  When I had collected many dry bits of wood and a few slabs of bark I set off back to my den.

  I sat down near the circle of rocks letting the warm sun bathe me in its rays, I was starting to enjoy me adventure, as long as I didn’t think about what my family was going through now I felt fine; fed and watered and making a home and catching a fish, I was extremely happy with my self  for doing all of these things without the help of anyone but me.

  As I started to set up my fire I placed the wood on the sides building up the tepee shape but leaving a little gap in the centre so that I could put burning embers in. I held my breath as I got a thick piece of bark and a stick the size of my fore arm and placed the stick in the centre of the bark I silently prayed to any one who was watching to make this work … I rubbed the stick as fast as I could manage between my hands and gritted my teeth, after what seemed like an age I started to smell the thick, noxious scent of smoke drifting from the bark I carried on rubbing the stick faster and faster until a tiny flame, like a little beacon of hope, licked up the side of the stick catching my eye from my peripheral vision.

  I stopped rubbing and quickly got some dry leaves and make shift kindle to stick on top of the now smouldering bark. I cupped the bundle in my hands and gently blew oxygen in to the centre of the bark then so fast I wasn’t sure if it was true a spark flew out of my hands landing on my cheek and burning my face, I welcomed it. I kept blowing until I had a small fire in the centre of my hands, my adrenaline pumping I slid the flames in to the centre of my tepee and eased more wood on to the growing fire a few minutes later I had a bright orange burning heap in front of my eyes. Wow.

*  *  *

I sat and stared in to the centre of that fire I don’t know how long. I didn’t think, I didn’t speak, I didn’t need food or water, all I wanted and needed was to look in to the heart of the fire and watch it burn. I lay more and more sticks on to the heap as the night got colder, and still I stared …


Part Two ...


Day 5
  The wind was howling, throwing my hair in to my face. I was sat in a tiny rubber boat clinging on to the sides for support as the water beneath me battered the sides of the boat and ripped at my face, like a monstrous claw searching for the thing it craves, it’s hunger for blood and death ate in to me, as cold as the water soaking me from all sides.
  I screamed as I was tipped over the edge and in to the dark hole of water. Then a cry from far away; hello? I can’t seem to find you? ….. Then; …. I know you’re there; I’ve seen you in my dreams ….
  I saw the words burning in to the air in front of me, written by an invisible hand. They melted in to a puddle at my feet and I felt hot sticky gloop drip and land on my toes getting hotter and hotter until I screamed …
… And woke my self up.
  I sat up panting, shivering, until the warm sun soothed my skin. The fire was in embers now, striking my peripheral vision when i caught sight of it against the dull sand. I stood shaking the sand from my body, maybe sleeping next to the fire, on the floor, hadn’t been the best of ideas so far.
  The dream came back to me in a rush. I remembered with eerie accuracy what the spoken words sounded like in my head, I shivered again and decided to forget about the dream. Maybe I was going mad…
I pulled my self together, and walked back to my den just behind the fringe of the trees. I wanted to get the fire going again so that I could cook my fish.
  The night before I’d wrapped the fish in a few leaves in hope that nothing would get to it, surprisingly it worked. I carried the small parcel to the fire and laid it down in the sand, as I drew neared I felt the dying embers give out the little heat they had left, and I watched as they glowed, spat, then fizzled out completely.
I got a few of the sticks that I hadn’t set alight last night and set to work breaking them in to kindle. I rubbed one stick against a piece of bark and, thankfully, I got the same reaction as last time. Flames jumped in to life and blackened the stick I was holding, I soon had a decent fire going within the circle of stones, and I constructed a spit on which to cook my fish.
  It was times like this when I wished I had a book to read. I sat watching the fish slowly cook, turning it occasionally, when I heard that voice again. The one from my dream. A whispered “I cant seem to find you …” At first I thought it was the wind running through the trees, but then I heard it again and felt not even the slightest breeze coming off of the sea. I jumped up and scanned the tree line; I didn’t know what I was looking for, a face? I think I expected some one to come bounding out of the trees and say ‘Jesse, thank God we’ve found you. Wow, well done for surviving and all but I think we should take you home. Let’s go.’ and that expectation made me all the more upset when nothing happened. I sighed, and, turning my back on the trees and my imaginary rescuer, I bent down to turn the fish over.
  *  *  *
  To be perfectly honest, the fish wasn’t bad, I’d been living off bananas for the past three days and that was the first bit of protein for a while so I felt good after eating it; full of energy. Judging by the sun beating down on my head i assumed that it was about mid-day, I decided to go for a swim, the thought of catching another fish made me smile so I bought my cutting rock with me to the edge of the water. I made a hole in the sand with my hands, scooping out handfuls of the dry, powdery rock and put my cutting rock in it so I didn’t loose it.
  I waded in to the cool liquid and let my mind wonder as I leaned back and let my hair float out behind me, I thought of my family and what I was missing at home, of my friends back in England wondering if they had seen a day of sun this month. I stared up at the light blue sky, it hadn’t rained in a while, and white, puffy clouds rolled lazily past each other as I watched them. I ducked under the soft waves and opened my eyes, letting them get used to the salt water before I went deeper. I swam straight down; it was only a few meters to the bottom here, and stared, transfixed, at the coral life in front of me. It was like my own personal snorkelling experience, and it was quite fun to see fish as small as my thumb nail dart past me in miniature schools.
  I pushed off of a rock to get to the top quickly, I needed air, but as I shoved down, my leg jarred and I felt electricity zap my foot and converge up in to my leg, my body almost shut down, rejecting the pain and the sight of the thick, milky black spine protruding from in-between my metatarsals. I carried on going up though, and I distinctly felt the spine pull free of its owner and a jerk on my foot. Shit.
  The pain was unbelievable. I was crying at this point and gasping for air, but I didn’t realise until I managed to swim to solid ground and crawl out of the water, screams of pain were breaking free from my lips as well as a string of cursing I didn’t realise I knew. I hopped on to the sand and flopped down, keeping my spiked foot still in the air, I nearly threw up at the sight of it. I’m going to die. Something that has a spike that big and can do something this fucking painful was not friendly. I’m going to die.
  I need to get it out, that was all I could think of. I was sat in the sand of a beautiful island and I was clutching my foot, probably about to die from shock or poisoning or something and I had to get a 4 inch long spine out of my freaking foot. I prepared my self, fuck, this is going to hurt. I took a deep breath, still shuddering from the crying, and held the end of the spine coming out of the bottom of my foot in my left hand and griped my ankle in my right, trying to keep it steady. I took another breath and grit my teeth.
And pulled.
  I’m going to die I’mgoingtodieI’mgoingtodieI’mgoingtodieI’mgoingtodieI’mgoingtodie….. Then I passed out.

Day 6
  I woke up slowly, groggily. With a searing pain in my foot that was reaching its spiky tendrils up my leg and in to my hip. I was lying on the sand with the ocean waves just lapping at the toes on my left foot. I shivered violently and realised that it was dark, black, although a cold hateful moon was shining from above, it seemed a million miles away. I shivered again and bile rose up in my throat burning its way in to my mouth as I vomited on the sand. I crawled, choking and spitting, to the stream leading to the sea and cupped handfuls to drink and splash on my face. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt this sick.
  I remembered what had caused this and that I was probably poisoned beyond repair and that I would probably die here, alone exhausted and with a hole in my foot. I looked down at my foot at that precise moment and although my stomach had nothing left to throw up I retched over the sand. The hole was deep black red and seeping from the top and, I assumed, from the bottom of my foot, yellow pus swirled with red blood. My actual foot was swollen and deformed, my toes were small and my big toe was almost purple, like a bruise had blossomed over the tip and spread up in to my foot. The hole was gaping wide, and from it I could see my veins were bulging under my skin up to my ankle, and through my calf, a greenish tinge was spreading to my knee.
  The whole scene was from a cheap horror movie. Where you can tell the blood is fake, and what would happen next is that the girl would get her leg hacked off by someone trying to save her life, but no one came, and this girl was not in a horror movie, although it seemed like it at times. And this blood was most definitely real.
  I curled up there on the sand, my hand dangling in to the stream getting colder and colder, whilst the shining moon watched me as I died.


(to be continued...)