Three weeks. That’s how long I’ve been stranded on this god forsaken rock. Three long and treacherous weeks.
To be honest, I really have no idea how I’ve made it this long. Not that I don’t know how to survive, I just don’t know how I ended up on this island in the first place. I guess I’ll start this log where I first remember.
It was a simple flight. I’ve been on thousands of them over the years because of my job. Traveling across the pacific was just a normal commute for me at this point. Captain Velez was in cockpit once again and I was in the back sipping a whiskey from a miniaturized bottle. I dozed off after an hour into the flight. That was the last normal thing in my life that I remember happening.
Next thing I know, I was being spun around the cabin of the airplane like I was on a demented carnival ride with no harness. I got a glance out of one of the windows and saw that one of the wings was no longer where it used to be. I’m pretty sure it was the left wing but the world was spinning far too fast for me to see. After unpleasantly throwing up everywhere due to the dizziness, I flew away from my seat and must have hit the front of the plane.
Then, I woke up on this beach.
Some debris had washed up onto the shore with me. It took me awhile to gain my bearings the first day because of my throbbing headache. But, I managed to pull together some important stuff. I found a life raft that I soon realized would be useless in this vast ocean. Right now, as I write this journal, I sleep every night under its shelter and hide myself from the scorching sun during the day under it. There’s plenty of trees on the island but, this shades me far better than them. Inside the life raft was a pretty handy tool kit. I have a nice system for collecting rainwater and desalinating saltwater. So, water isn’t much of an issue for me.
Right now, I’m living off the MRE packs that were inside the life raft kit. I have a few more weeks before those food rations run out and in the mean time I’ve been trying to figure out the best way to catch fish. Still haven’t quite worked that out.
So now, I have the big three taken care of. Food, water, and shelter. Next was trying to find my way home.
And, that is the part that is driving me absolutely insane.
My watch miraculously survived the crash. I must have never gone below 10m of water because that is all it is rated to. But, every day around 11:35 a.m. I see a little piece of civilization.
Actually, I can’t even see the piece of civilization. It’s far too high to see it. But, I can see the contrails streaming from behind that little chunk of hope. Every day.
The sad part after watching these trails streak by everyday is that I know that the people on board those planes cannot see me.
At first, I tried the reflecting mirror in the kit to try and catch the pilots’ eyes. Well, not true. I screamed and flailed my arms the first time I saw the plane streaking across the sky. And, within seconds I realized just how stupid that was. Don’t judge me. Next, I tried using that mirror that I told you about. I figure that, to the pilots, I probably just look like a minor bit of glare coming off the massive expanse of the pacific ocean in mid day.
One day, I piled a bunch of trees and started a fire to hopefully signal the plane with a giant plume of smoke. The plume never really grew to a substantial height.
So, I have officially given up.
Every day at about 11:25 in the morning, I slide out from my life raft shelter and walk over to a nice patch on the beach. The sand there is exceptionally smooth and there is a lovely tree that casts a bit of shade onto the sand there. It keeps my back nice and cool while I lay down on the beach and stare up into the sky.
I think about all of the people that are on each of those planes. There are the guys like me who have travelled so often on the planes that not a single part of the trip even amazes them anymore. And then, there are the little boys that run as fast as they can through the airport terminals to board this wonderfully amazing flying contraption. During the whole flight, they’re staring at the ground that is below them in awe at the fact that they are actually flying. I also wonder if any of those kids ever saw my little patch of isolation and tried telling their parents only to be acknowledged with a shush and turning back to their magazine filled with useless knick knacks.
Today as I plopped down on my patch of sand to view my mid-day entertainment, I checked my watch to see that it was 11:35. And yet, I didn’t see a streak across the sky. That’s odd. Maybe the weather at the departure airport was crappy. I sat up on my elbows and glanced around the horizon. Nothing. No streaks.
I started to grow concerned. I glanced down at my watch and now it was quarter till 12. This was definitely odd. I stood up and cupped a hand over my eyes to see further into the distance.
After several minutes, my shoulders relaxed. I saw the familiar streaks across the sky. Everything was back to normal in the world. I smiled while staring at that white line of distant civilization. I didn’t care that I was stranded.