"Washed Up"

The increasingly rough sea made it difficult, but after the fourth try David managed to snag the floating object with the gaff. He hauled it in, and then retreated to the shelter of the cabin before examining it. He was surprised to discover a book, protected from the fury of the ocean by a zip-top plastic bag. It was the air in the bag that had allowed the book to float.

"How curious," he said. No one was with him on the boat, but David had long ago established the habit of talking to himself when he was out fishing. Unlike his wife, the fish never disagreed.

He took a moment to verify his position on the GPS, and then overlaid the map with a live Doppler radar feed. A small storm was coming. David considered returning to port, but the storm didn't look too severe. Better to wait it out here than waste half a day of fishing due to a little rain. Besides, the delay would give him an opportunity to check out his discovery.

Satisfied with his decision, David took a seat at the small table in the cabin and pulled the book from its plastic protection. He folded the bag neatly and placed it in his pocket.

"Never know when that might come in handy," he said. He turned his attention to the book. It was small, no larger than a three by five index card.

"Perfect for sliding into a breast pocket." The leather cover was tattered, any title long since worn away. How old was this book? He gently opened the cover.

"It's a journal!" The pages inside were in good condition. The entries were made in a jerky hand, the writing close to illegible. David snickered. "His handwriting's almost as bad as mine."

The rain chose that minute to start falling. The wind pushed it against the cabin window. David took a moment to make sure everything was in place for the storm. When he was done, he settled down and began to read.

-----

*Day One*
I'm writing this on Day Three, but I should start from the beginning. I don't know who I am. In fact, I don't remember much of anything before waking on the beach. Just flashes, really: a twenty-foot wave, the tipping of a boat, an explosion. I had hurt my head, the pounding in my skull made that painfully clear. When I could get to my feet, I realized that I was on an island. The sun was just setting. Where was I? Who was I? Some fifty feet up the sand the beach ended at the edge of a tropical forest. It looked ominous in the fading sunlight. A crack of lightning warned a storm was coming. I knew instinctively I would need shelter. That's when I saw the light, coming from somewhere back in the trees. I decided to check it out.

Imagine my surprise when I discovered a cabin not far into the trees. The light came from a lantern, hung from the porch. I called a greeting, but no one answered. When the rain started I chose to enter. The cabin was deserted. I found a couple of cans of beans and this journal. I waited for the cabin's owner to return, but hunger got the best of me. I ate a can of beans and fell asleep.

*Day Two*
I woke up stiff from sleeping at the table. Still hungry, I ate the second can of beans. The sun was shining, so I decided to explore. The island is tiny. I estimate maybe two, three square acres. The owner of the cabin is nowhere to be found. Perhaps he attempted to take whatever boat he had and tried to outrun the storm. I cannot fathom why he left the lantern burning. It has since gone out, but there is plenty of fuel in the cabin. However, there is no more food and no source of fresh water. The water is likely not an issue; I can always collect rain water - I found a ziptop bag in my pocket that will serve adequately as a water catcher. The lack of food concerns me. I wish I had not eaten the two cans of beans so quickly. I searched for fishing gear and found none. Perhaps I can make some?

*Day Three*
I can't recall the last time I went 24 hours without eating. I don't like it. Since I'm not sure when the owner is coming back, I have to assume I am on my own. I tried fishing, but have discovered that I am not much of a fisherman without modern gear. I have little faith my meager attempts at trapping will catch anything. I don't recognize any of the plants and am afraid to try to eat any. I started writing in this journal to pass the time, but I'm now that I'm caught up I find I have very little to say.

*Day Four*
Very hungry. Found some bugs today, but couldn't bring myself to eat them. Decided my only chance is to make a raft and leave the island. Spent the day finding materials.

*Day Five*
Built the raft today. Took longer than expected. So hungry. Ate a bug today, but it tasted so bad I threw it up. Don't know how I'm going to survive.

*Day Six*
This is my last entry. I'm leaving on the raft. In true message in a bottle tradition, I have decided to set this journal adrift in the sea. Hopefully one or the other of us will reach more civilized shores. Should you find this, please look for me. If you don't find me, remember me to God.

-----

The journal ended there. David was fascinated. What could have happened to the man? Did he survive? How long ago had this been written? David wished the man had dated the pages. Should he be looking for a man on a raft?

David looked out the window. He had been so caught up in reading the journal had hadn't been paying attention. The weather had turned dramatically worse. The wind had grown fierce. The boat began to toss drastically from side to side. David moved quickly to the con. He had to get the boat righted before the waves got too high.

He was too late. A huge swell grabbed the boat, and he began to rise. He tried desperately to turn into the wave....

Lightning flashed. Something on the boat exploded. David went tumbling backward. He struck his head on the table - and everything went black.

-----

He awoke on a sandy beach. He couldn't remember anything, just flashes, really: a twenty-foot wave, the tipping of a boat, an explosion. He had hurt his head, the pounding in his skull made that painfully clear. When he got to his feet, he realized he was on an island. The sun was just setting.

Where was he? *Who* was he?

Some fifty feet up the sand the beach ended at the edge of a tropical forest. It looked ominous in the fading sunlight. A crack of lightning warned a storm was coming. He knew instinctively he would need shelter. That's when he saw the light, coming from somewhere back in the trees.