Stranded On A Deserted Island -short ver

    I huddled closer to the scant fire, wishing for 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 horrible days.

    It started as the perfect trip; sunny, warm, and with calm waters. We chartered a yacht skippered by a seasoned captain for our tenth anniversary.
Janet and I swam, fished and ate lunch on the wide deck. I chatted with the captain a bit. He popped several antacids while we talked; I assumed he had a bad case of heartburn.
    All seemed fine until I went to ask him where we’d be docking for the night. I found him lying on the floor near 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 closed his eyes. I couldn’t take them staring at me like that.
    My wife came looking for me and screamed when she saw Captain Sheffield. I held her tight and tried to calm her down.
    “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.”
    “Jesus, we can’t just leave him there. Do something!”
    “I—what do you want me to do? Dump him overboard? I won’t.”
    “No, but…Jeez, move him to his cabin or something!”
    “Fine, help me.”
    “No way, uh-uh, I am not touching him; I just can’t.”
    “Whatever, just stay here and try to get someone on the radio.”

    It took me awhile, but I got him into a small room. When I returned to Janet, I found her pulling knobs and pushing buttons.
    “Are you sure that’s safe? We don’t know what that stuff does.”
    “You have any better ideas? Why couldn’t you figure out the radio? I thought men were just…born knowing that kind of stuff.”
    “I’m a writer, not a sailor. My gadget knowledge stops at word processors and VCRs.”
    “Yeah well, your books are helping us now aren’t they?”
Avoiding a fight, I changed the subject.
    “We have food and water; we’ll be ok until morning. But there’s a problem; I don’t know how to stop this thing. It’s going on its own, slowly, but I don’t want to hit anything.”
    “Let’s take turns watching, if we see anything coming, we’ll steer around it.”
    “Fine, you try to rest, I’ll watch first, I saw binoculars earlier.”
    I watched for several hours until I started falling asleep. Janet watched for 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 fell back to sleep.

    A bone jarring crunch awoke me just as the sun broke the horizon. The yacht rocked hard, and I fell off the bed. I couldn’t make sense of the chaos around me. It was too loud, and things were flying everywhere. I called for Janet and didn’t see her at first. She’d been thrown 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’, and we sloshed our way to the deck and jumped. Flotsam littered the water. I grabbed a passing life jacket and made Janet put it on.
    “We’ll be ok honey, hang on.” I said.
    “What the hell happened?”
    “I don’t know. I fell asleep. But look, there’s an island.
    “Let’s go, maybe there’s a town or at least someone’s vacation house.”
    “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 no, you had to fall asleep.”
    “Get off it Janet, I’m sorry OK? You were tired too.”
    “Oh, so now it’s my fault? Screw you Don. 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 saw her go limp and blood colored the water. 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, “Don’t come. Hurts.”
    My frantic mind tried to figure out what to do. I froze in panic. Were there sharks out here? Whatever it was, it killed her fast. With one last look at my now dead wife, I swam to the small strip of sandy beach. I am scum. A coward. My legs felt like jelly, and I collapsed. When I finally came to, the sun rode high overhead. I’d better get to work.

  I explored the small Island; it only took about a half hour. I built a shelter next to a small but steep hill; it provided cover on one side, and trash from the wreck made up the rest. The wet wood from the yacht wouldn’t make a fire yet, but I gathered much of it anyway; maybe it would dry out enough to use later. The island didn’t have many trees, but there were several on the north end. A few bushes had berries on them, but I wasn’t sure if they were poisonous.
    I sat down to rest and emptied my pack. Thankfully it survived. I had my laptop, two reference books, a novel and two large bags of Twizzlers—I eat them compulsively when I write.
    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. My stomach growled and I began to look for food. 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. “You can eat what the squirrels eat and drink what the birds drink, but you can’t drink what the squirrels drink or eat what the birds eat.” That could help, if it was true. Except that I didn’t see any squirrels. I decided to watch the bush and if birds ate from it, I’d stay away. But that didn’t solve my hunger problem right now. I munched on Twizzlers.
    I found a long thin branch and sharpened it into a decent spear. Leery about whatever got Janet, I carefully waded into the water, hoping to catch a fish. They do it on Survivor; I can too. No such luck. It wasn’t until the third day that I caught anything; a fish about the size of my palm.
    The berry bushes hadn’t had any feathered visitors, so I picked a couple of handfuls while the fish cooked. My mouth watered just thinking about that small but glorious bit of real food. I boiled water in a small pot that washed up from the yacht.

    A crack of thunder jerked me out of my reverie. “Great, just what I need; a storm.” I complained to my laptop screen. I’ve taken to talking to it after I gave it a muddy face; it keeps me sane I think. Sometimes I pretend its Janet. I turned her over and scratched a hash mark on her back as the sun began to set. I always mark the days at dusk. I don’t know why, maybe to mark another day gone by rather than starting. So far I’ve filled half the surface; three hundred and twenty seven marks; though I may be off a few days; sometimes I lose track of time.
    I pick up my tattered books and choose one to reread while the light remains. They are my link to civilization. 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 wonder if I’ll ever get home to read the last book of the series. Probably not. It really bothers me not knowing what happens. Sometimes I occupy myself by head-writing the ending to the series.
    I lay down on my hard pallet I’d raised off the ground with several large stones. I rolled onto my left side, taking care to not bump my right arm; it still hurt and oozed blood if I banged it; I can’t believe I fell out of that tree. My legs sting from sores and cuts, but cool mud packed on them makes the pain manageable.

    The next morning rain still poured, but at least it wasn’t windy. My bushes were bare, but I could still fish. I couldn’t make a fire, so I ate it raw. Tonight’s menu is, a 16 oz. Blue Pike, two big Idaho potatoes, and buttermilk coleslaw. For dessert it’ll be apple pie topped with French vanilla ice cream. Or so I imagined. Yum.
    My cracked lips are covered in sores, and burn while I eat; I wonder briefly if I have some disease. After my painful and somewhat nourishing meal, I limp over to take care of my regular task. The rocks. I’ve been spelling words in the sand with them. I check to make sure they stay uncovered and sometimes add rocks to make the words bigger. That’s another thing that helps me, taking care of my rocks. I’ve spelled out ‘HELP’ and ‘SOS’ in letters about five feet long. If I were stronger and had use of both arms, I’d get the rocks from the other side of the island and spell out ‘Hell’; that’s what I’ve named this island. After all, it is where Janet told me to go.
    The rain finally let up and I looked for something to burn; a few small branches and twigs. I looked at my books again, wanting to burn them but not daring to.
I’m able to start a small fire. Once it roared at about 6 inches high--haha my little joke there, I unwrap the shred of shirt around my arm. The gash is mostly closed now, but to help it I took a piece of metal from the laptop, and set it in the fire until it was hot enough, then stuck it on 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 over the small beach and saw…a big ship anchored right there! I tripped getting up so fast, and got a face full of dirt for my effort. I ran to the water’s edge and slipped again, only to get up and realize there was no ship. That happens a lot around here. I start to wonder about ghost ships. I stumbled back to my house and scratched another mark on Janet.

    The next several days pass much the same; boring place. The time has come to finally burn a book. I must. But how can I choose? I can’t kill Susannah; she’s been through so much already. It’ll have to be either The Writer’s Market, or Encyclopedia of Law and Society. I hate to part with either, but I don’t think the EL&S can help me anymore; I can’t finish the book. I am the only society here anyway. Or do Janet and the birds count?
    Tonight’s fare is turkey, stuffing, cranberries and warm buttery dinner rolls. That was one fat pigeon I found dead on the beach! At least I don’t have to try throwing 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. I’m cold, my head hurts, and I want to puke, but nothing comes up. I don’t even have the strength to make my hash marks.
How long have I been sick? I don’t know. I’m hearing things again. One of the ghost ships, or maybe that’s a helicopter. “Wait, I haven’t heard that before. Janet, have you?” She tells me that I’m stupid and to go to hell because there is no ghost helicopter.
    “Hahaha, I’m already in hell!” I reply. I want to throw her out of my house, but can’t get up.
    “Sir? Can you understand me? I’m sure this does feel like hell, but we’re going to get you out of here.” A voice says quite close to me. I know it’s not real. Those ghost ship people aren’t going to fool me!
    “OK John, help me, he’s delirious.”
    I opened my eyes; two men in flight suits bent over me. Oh dear lord, they were real. Or this was one doozy of a hallucination.
    “Wha—“ I started. My voice cracked.
    “It’s OK. We’re taking you to the hospital. We were looking for a downed plane and saw your SOS. I’m Sgt. McCafferty, and this is Sgt. Batey. Can you tell me your name?” He asked as they loaded me into the chopper.
    “Janet. No wait, that’s my laptop. I mean my wife. I’m Don. Don Murphy.”
    “Don Murphy? As in, the author? We’ve been looking for you for over a year!”
    “That’s me. Get Janet for me, she’s in the house. You’ll know her because she has a dirty face and tells me to go to hell.” I saw the perplexed look they exchanged, but I didn’t care. One of them 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 and lay down on the floor. Some habits are hard to break.