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Rated: E · Fiction · Action/Adventure · #2221962
No dialogue
How can an author write with constant interruptions? Phones that won't stop ringing. Children fighting for attention. A wife that expects the chores to be shared. How will that novel ever get finished?

The answer came from an ad. Two weeks alone on a dessert island. First class facilities, internet access, all mod cons and enough food for the two week stay. Flying to the nearest mainland airport then on by a small boat to a tropical paradise. What could go wrong? THE VIRUS!

At the end of the two weeks the novel was complete. Very little was left of the food, which had been exquisite. Now the boat was due. But the boat was held in harbour by quarantine restrictions. The generator was spluttering from lack of fuel. The lights no longer worked. Refrigeration was a thing of the past.

The heat became intense without the air conditioning. The taps no longer worked now that the pump was no longer powered. Water would have to be collected from the stream. As to food ...

The outside world seemed so far away. The laptop was now for emergency messages only; the first to family at home with just the letters SOS. No ships on the horizon. No planes flying overhead, or, at least, not low enough to see the beacon fire.

Survival was the watchword. Shelter, if you can stand the heat. Water, with some effort. Food, that had to be considered. What was edible? What could poison? Trial and error was not feasible with no medical facilities.

The sea would provide but needed some expertise. Coconuts were okay. What about berries. Red for danger? Strawberries are red, and raspberries. But these berries might be lethal.

-*-


Eight weeks on and still no rescue. Shelter is now an improvised tent, made from waste washed up on the beach. Much cooler. And it is built by the waterfall so no more walking to collect the vital fluid. And the cascade is the best shower ever.

Food is still in short supply. No more coconuts wanted. Crabs are good, if you are fast enough to catch them. A plane flew low over the island yesterday. Someone knows my plight. Isolation is not all it's cracked up to be.

WHERE'S MAN FRIDAY?!!!

377 WORDS
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2221962-Robin-Crusoe