Stranded On A Deserted Island

Story about being stranded on a deserted island for a year (Longer version)

                          Stranded On A Deserted Island (longer Version)


    I huddled closer to the scant fire, wishing I could’ve found more wood. I refuse to burn my books. I tried to keep my mind off the cold and thought back to the wreck that left me here and those first few horrible days.

    It started as the perfect day trip; sunny, warm, and with calm waters. We chartered a yacht skippered by a seasoned captain for our tenth wedding anniversary. It was supposed to be just a 24-hour trip.

    Janet and I swam a bit, fished and ate lunch on the wide deck. And even made love in the warm afternoon sun. Our captain gave us plenty of privacy once we were underway. I chatted to him a bit about sailing; I know nothing about it, but it interested me. He popped several antacids while we talked; I assumed he had a bad case of heartburn.
    All seemed fine until just after sunset when I went to ask him where we’d be docking for the night; I been thinking about a new story idea, that I didn’t pay attention to the details of the trip. I couldn’t see land anywhere and that made me a little nervous.
    I found him lying on the floor under the massive wheel. His hand curled into a claw and lay on his chest. His pale face and bluish his lips told me that I didn’t need to check for a pulse. I knelt down and closed his eyes. I couldn’t take them staring at me like that.
    I looked around at the myriad of electronics; clueless on how to call for help. I tried a CB looking thing, but I couldn’t get through. Maybe the captain knocked something loose, or turned something off when he fell?
    My wife came looking for me and screamed when she saw Captain Sheffield. I held her tight and tried to calm her down; it took awhile.
    “What the hell are we going to do now?” she screamed at me.
    “I don’t know honey, I’m trying to find a radio or something, but I can’t get anything to work.”
    “Jesus, we can’t just leave him there. Do something!”
    “I—what do you want me to do? Dump him overboard? I won’t do that.”
    “No, but…Jeez can’t you at least move him to his cabin or something?”
    “Fine, help me move him.”
    “No way, uh-uh, I am not touching him; I just can’t.”
    “How am I supposed to carry him then? Whatever, just stay here and try to get someone on the radio or something.”

    It took me awhile, but I finally managed to hoist him into a small room. It’d have to do for now. When I returned to Janet, I found her pulling knobs and pushing buttons.
  “Are you sure that’s safe? I mean we don’t know what that stuff does.”
  “You have any better ideas? Why couldn’t you figure out the radio? I thought guys were just…born knowing about that kind of stuff.”
    “I’m a writer, not a sailor. My gadget knowledge goes about as far as computers and VCRs.”
    “Yeah well, your books are helping us a lot now aren’t they?”
    “Oh stuff it Janet. Sniping at each other won’t help get us out of this.”
    “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

    We tried for about another hour, with no better luck. 
    “Look Don, someone may come by, we’ve got lights on. Let’s go back out on the deck and try to relax. We can’t do much in the dark anyway.”
    “Alright. We have food and water to drink, we’ll be ok at least until morning. Maybe we can try fresh then if no one finds us tonight. But there’s a problem, I don’t know how to stop this thing. It’s going on its own, and pretty slowly, but I don’t want to hit anything.”
  “Let’s take turns watching, if we see anything coming, we’ll just steer around it.”
  “Uh…it’s dark. We can’t see very far.”
  “It’s worth a try dammit! We can’t just sit and do nothing.”
  “Fine, you go try to rest, I’ll watch for now, I saw binoculars earlier.”


    I watched for several hours until I started hallucinating; I was over tired. Janet watched for just a couple of hours, and then woke me.
    “Take over, it’s almost dawn I think.” She said and lay down next to me. I said I would but then fell back to sleep.

  A bone jarring crunch awoke me just as the sun broke the horizon. The yacht rocked hard to the right, and I fell off the bed. I couldn’t make sense of the chaos around me at first. It was too loud, and things were flying about the room. Broken glass and furniture littered the room. I called for Janet and didn’t see her at first.    She’d been thrown off the bed also and a dresser held her down. I hefted it up and she scrambled out, holding her left arm.
    “Let’s go, there’s water coming in.” I shouted to her and grabbed the waterproof pack the captain made us use, ‘just in case’. She grabbed hers at the same time and we sloshed through the door. The small hallway tilted until we were wading through with our feet on the wall. Once on the deck, we half ran, half swam to the railing; or where it should’ve been. We just swam out away from the boat.
    Flotsam littered the water in all directions. I grabbed a passing life jacket and made Janet put it on. I caught hold of a large hunk of wood and floated, giving my arms and legs a break.
    “We’ll be ok honey, just hang on tight.” I said to Janet.
    “What the hell happened?”
    “I don’t know. I fell back to sleep. But look, there’s an island. Maybe we bottomed out in the shallower water.”
    “Let’s go, Maybe there’s a town or at least a vacation house for someone.”
    “Doubtful, it doesn’t look very big.” I said.
    “God, you’re so negative, you got us into this anyway. I told you to watch, but noooo you had to fall back to sleep.”
    “Get off it Janet, I’m sorry OK. Like you weren’t tired too.”
    “Oh, so now it’s my fault? Screw you Don.”
    “Go to hell.” I said and started swimming towards the island.
    “No, you go to hell, you—“
    Whatever she was about to call me was cut off by a sharp cry of pain.
Janet!” I yelled and turned back to her. I watched her go limp and blood colored the water surrounding her. I started to swim back to her when she opened her eyes and shook her head. Her weak call reached my ears like a whisper, “Go. Don’t come. Hurts.”
    My frantic mind tried to figure out what happened and what to do. I was ashamed of myself; I froze in panic. Obviously something bit or stung her. Were their sharks out here? Whatever it was, it killed her fast; maybe I’d better get away. With one last look at my now obviously dead wife, I swam to shore. I am scum. A coward.

    I reached water shallow enough for me to walk in, but my legs burned and felt like jelly. I hadn’t swam that much since high school. I crawled onto the small strip of sandy beach and collapsed on my stomach for what seemed like forever. When I finally came to my senses I realized the sun was high overhead. I’d better get to work finding food and shelter. I also needed to make some sort of SOS.
    I explored the small island from one end to the other and it only took me about thirty minutes or thereabouts. I found a good spot for a shelter; a small but steep hill provided cover on one side, I could use some of the trash that washed ashore to make the rest.
    I gathered wood pieces, and clothing from the shore to make a decent shelter; I hoped. The wet wood from the yacht would be no good now for a fire, but I gathered much of it anyway; maybe it would dry out enough to use later. The island had very little in the way of trees, but there were several on the north end. A few bushes had some kind of berries on them, but I wasn’t sure if they were poisonous or not.
    I sat down to rest and emptied out my pack. Thankfully I had it on my back, and it survived.
    I had my laptop, three books—two are reference books for the story I was working on, and one novel. I also had a few pencils and a notebook. Two large bags of Twizzlers—I munch them compulsively when I write. Some help, but not much.

    I tried to make a fire using sticks, but that turned out to be harder then it looked. I remembered my belt buckle and used the edge against a stone. That worked better, but still took a long time. My stomach growled and I began to wonder about food again. I wasn’t brave enough to try the berries yet, and couldn’t find any small animals. Not that I had a useful weapon anyway.
    I remembered something my dad used to say whenever we went camping, which wasn’t often and I hadn’t been camping since he died when I was twelve. He said, “You can eat what the squirrels eat and drink when the birds drink, but you can’t drink what the squirrels drink or eat what the birds eat.” I didn’t think much about it at the time because we always had food and water, but now it could be useful. Except that there were no squirrels that I could see. I decided to watch the tree and if I saw birds eating from it, I’d stay away. But that didn’t solve my hunger problem right now. I munched on Twizzlers, which helped some.

    I found a long thin branch and sharpened the tip with my belt buckle until I had a decent spear. Leery about finding whatever got Janet, I carefully waded into the water, hoping to catch fish. They do it on Survivor, I should be able to do it. No such luck. It wasn’t until the third day that I was able to catch anything; a small fish about the size of my palm.
    The bushes hadn’t had any feathered visitors, so I desperately picked a couple of handfuls while I waited for the fish to cook. My mouth watered just thinking about that small but glorious bit of real food. The water I boiled in a small pot that washed up from the yacht.

    I was jerked out of my reverie by a crack of thunder. “Great, just what I need; a storm.” I complained to my laptop screen. I’ve taken to talking to it after I drew a muddy face on it. It helps keep me sane I think. Sometimes I pretend its Janet; other times various friends or family. The rest of the laptop has long since been destroyed. I tried once to use the hard drive to reflect the sun for any passing planes, but there weren’t many and they didn’t seem to notice.
    I grabbed Janet—my laptop screen’s name for the day, and huddled under my shelter to wait out the storm. “I’ll have to try and make another fire later; I can’t keep it covered from the storms very well when the winds kick up.” I said to her.
I turned her over and scratched another hash mark as the sun began to set and the storm rolled closer. I always mark the days at sunset instead of sunrise. I don’t really know why, maybe to mark another day gone by rather then starting. So far I’ve almost filled half of the surface. Three hundred and twenty seven marks. I can’t believe I’ve been here that long, though I may be off a few days; sometimes I sleep too long and awake unsure of whether I marked the day before or not.
    I pick up the tattered books and choose one to reread while the light remains. They are my only link to civilization and life as I knew it. I’ve read them all so many times; I know them word for word, though sometimes it seems like I forget how to read. My mind just can’t grasp things at times. Tonight I chose the novel I’d brought along; one of Stephen King’s Dark Tower series; Susannah’s Song. I wondered again if I’d ever get home again and be able to read the last book of the series. Probably not. It really bothers me not knowing what happens next. Sometimes I occupy myself by head-writing the ending to the series. I burned the notebook and pencils long ago.
  “It’s too dark to see now, love. I’m tired. Go to sleep now, maybe tomorrow we’ll wake up and find this to be nothing but a horrible nightmare.” I hear Janet telling me to shut up and stop being so stupid. She tells me once again to go to hell.
  I lay down on the hard pallet I’d made and raised off the ground with several large stones. One night with rain washing over me taught me a lesson about sleeping on the flat ground. I rolled onto my left side, taking care to not bump my right arm and leg; they still hurt and oozed blood when I banged them;  I can’t believe I fell out of that tree.
  My legs stung from the sores and cuts, but sometimes like tonight, the cool mud packed on them makes the pain manageable.

  The next morning the rain still poured, but at least it wasn’t as windy. My berry bushes were bare, but I could still fish somewhat. I do well when it rains for some reason. I couldn’t make a fire, so I ate it raw. Again. Tonight’s dinner will be a 16 oz. Blue Pike with two big Idaho potatoes, and buttermilk coleslaw. For desert it’ll be Mamma’s Famous Apple Pie topped with French vanilla ice cream. Or so I imagined. Yum.
    My cracked lips were covered in sores, and burned while I ate, and I wondered  briefly if I had some strange disease. Does it really matter if I never get off here? Either way I’ll die; whether from some disease or starvation, exposure or whatever else can kill someone on a deserted island.

    After my painful and somewhat nourishing meal, I limped over to take care of one of my regular tasks. The rocks. For awhile now, I’ve been spelling out words in the sand with them. I check to make sure they stay uncovered and now and then, add rocks to make the words bigger. Maybe someday a plane or something will come close enough to see them. I hoped. That’s another thing that helps me, taking care of my rocks. So far, I’ve spelled out ‘HELP’ and ‘SOS’ in letters about five feet long. I hope that’s big enough, but maybe today I’ll add more, if I can find enough rocks and carry them with one arm. If I were stronger and had both arms, I’d get the rocks from the other side of the island and try to spell out ‘Hell’ that’s what I’ve named this island. After all it sucks, and it is where Janet told me to go.

  The rain finally let up and I looked around for something to burn. I found a few more small branches and twigs. That tree branch I’d started to saw on with my belt buckle still wasn’t dried out enough, but I tried to break it off anyway. No luck; I got it to crack a little more, but I’m too tired to keep at it. I looked at my books again, wanting to burn them, but not daring to.
  I’m able to start a small fire with sticks now, but it’s hard to keep it going with so little kindling. Once it was roaring at about 6 inches high--haha my little joke there, I unwrapped the shred of shirt from my arm. Not bad, its red, but it looks like it might be starting to heal. The gash is mostly closed now, but to help it along, I took one of the pieces of metal from the laptop and set it next to the fire until it was nice and hot, then set it against the gash. Yes, I screamed. Like a girl. In a horror movie. So sue me, I’m a wimp; it hurt. But it closed the gash didn’t it?

    I looked out over the small beach and saw…a ship! A really big ship anchored right there. I tripped getting up too fast and got a face full of dirt for my effort, but I ran to the water’s edge and slipped again, only to get up and realize there was no ship. Or it had left already. Something. Things like that happen a lot around here. So much that I started to wonder about ghost ships.
I stumbled back to my shelter and scratched another mark on Janet. It was bedtime.

    The next several days passed about the same. Not much happens around here; boring place. I know I’m weaker then when I first got here but overall I think I’m doing well. I hardly ever puke anymore. The time has come to finally burn one of the books. I must. But how can I choose? I can’t kill Susannah that way; she’s been through so much already. It’ll have to be either The Writer’s Market 2007, or Encyclopedia of Law and Society. I hated to part with either, but somehow I don’t think the EL&S can help me anymore; I can’t finish the book I’d started now can I? I am the only society here anyway. Or do Janet and the birds count? HaHaHa!
I burned half the book in just getting the fire going. “Burn baby burn!” I yelled at it.
The other half, I’d save for tomorrow. Tonight’s fare is turkey, potatoes, corn, cranberries and warm buttery dinner rolls. That was one fat pigeon I found dead on the beach! At least I didn’t have to try and throw rocks at it. There’s no strength in my pitching arm, and besides I’m tired of messing up my rock words.

    I think I’m coming down with something. I don’t want to get out of bed today. I’m cold, then hot, my head hurts, and I want to puke, but nothing comes up. I don’t even have the strength to go make my hash marks.

    How long have I been sick for? I don’t know. I must be really sick; I’m hearing things again. Another one of the ghost ships. Or maybe that’s a helicopter this time. “Wait, I haven’t heard those before Janet, have you?” She tells me no, that I’m stupid and should go to hell because there is no ghost helicopter.
  “OK then miss know-it-all, then why do I hear voices? Like over loudspeaker.” She tells me it’s because I’m dying, and tells me to go to hell again.
  “Hahaha, I am in hell already, jokes on you!” I reply. I want to throw her out of my house, but I can’t get up.

    “Sir? Can you understand me? I’m sure this feels like hell to you, but we’re going to get you out of here.” A voice says quite close to me. Well I know it’s not real. Those ghost ship people aren’t going to fool me! I’ll pretend to be asleep and they’ll stop.
    “Ok, John, help me move him. He’s delirious.” I heard. HA! It won’t work; I’ve heard those voices before, they can’t fool me!
    Suddenly I felt hands reach under me, one going under my right leg and the pain was real enough to make me scream. I opened my eyes to see two large men in flight suits bending over me. “On three.” One said. Oh my dear lord, they were real. Or this was one doozy of a hallucination.
    “Wha—“ I started. My voice cracked.
    “It’s OK. We’re going to take you by helicopter to the hospital. We were patrolling the air looking for a downed plane and saw your SOS’s. I’m Sgt. McCafferety, and this is Sgt. Batey. Do you remember your name?” They asked as the loaded my into the chopper.
    “Janet. No wait, that’s my laptop. I mean my wife. I’m Don. Don Murphy.”
    “Don Murphy?” The Sgt. exclaimed. “As in the best selling author Don Murphy? We’ve been looking for you for a year. It’s been one year and three days as a matter of fact!”
  “That’s me. Get Janet for me will ya, she’s in the house. You’ll know her because she has a dirty face. I need some water.” I saw the perplexed looks they exchanged, but I didn’t really care; I knew what I meant. One of them, I’m not sure which, ran to my little house and gathered up my things, probably unsure of who Janet was, and climbed in beside me.

    I went to sleep that night in a hospital bed, but during the night, I climbed out of it and lay down on the floor. Some habits are hard to break.