Day 136

"Captain log entry. Early morning. It's been one-hundred and thirty-six days since I've been stranded here. There are others here with me at least two dozen, but none of them are worthy explorers or survivalists as I am. Most of them are tourists who expected an eventful vacation, a break from the grueling monotony of their daily lives. They speak of how this trip was supposed to be rejuvenating and calming. I doubt this is what they expected. After all, neither did I.

"The water supply is running low. The sand coated berries we've retrieved along the beach side cause my parched lips to crack, my already dry throat to burn. There are other edible things on the island, strange near flavorless leaves, coconuts, odd fruits and ground grown roots. The occasion small bird that washes upon the shore. None of these are very filling, always leaving me craving for more. But what other choice do I have if I wish for survival? As I yearn for an existence outside of this island.

"You may ask why we do not explore further into the island. Why we do not traverse this unknown foreign terrain for larger wild game, something that will feed and fill us for days. We have tried. But the beasts that lay just beyond the safety line of the sandy beach do not permit us to wander very far. There are these huge creatures, all in white. I've never seen anything like them before. Can take out a grown man with one sharp sting of their paws.

"So here we are, stranded on the beach. Cramped for space and resources. I've never realized how much I enjoyed the peace and quiet, the solitude of the open sea until now. Trying to find a moment of peace amongst these savages that were once my passengers will drive any man to insanity. But I do not need to explain that to you, do I?" My lips curl into a grin, yet feels like a grimace.

"I fear though, if we do not begin to build refuge or attempt a further trip into the island for supplies, we shall perish here. Our bones shall shrivel and dry until they are just as barren as the sand beneath my feet. We have no choice, we must--" my words lodge into my throat as I look out over the horizon, where the blue of the sea and blue of the sky are one. The fading hues of a rising sun like a frost around the edges. But there, far off into the distance is a small black blot. The harder I stare the clearer the image grows. A ship! Could this possibly be!

I round on my second, heart pounding with excitement. This could be our escape! "Go! Go round the others. I shall gather the kindling. The drier the better! We must make a signal. Oh heavens Stevens, there on the horizon a ship! Can't you see it!" I begin to grab everything within reach to build a pyre.

"Stevens! Why haven't you moved! Go. GO!" I shoo him with my hands, but he doesn't budge. "What's wrong with you! Do you not want escape?!"

"Mr. Johnson," Stevens calmly folds his hands into his lap.

"How dare you disrespect your captain like this! I've given you an order. Now go! "

"Mr. Johnson," he repeats in the same slow drawl. "You are not on a stranded island. This is the psychiatric floor of Brownsburrow Hospital. You are a patient here who has had a break from reality due to a trauma. You are safe here. There is no need for escape. What you see out the window is not a ship, but a sparrow sitting on the electric wires. You are not using debris to build a fire, but the books from my office shelf. I am not your second, but Dr. Stevens, your psychiatrist."

I watch him closely, studying his neatly pressed and tucked shirt, his unstained pants and clean hands. And can't fathom how he has managed to remain so clean during these trying times. I look down to my own solidly hands and black underneath my fingernails. My grown beard and shredded clothes. Mad. Mad, Stevens has gone. I won't alert the others; I do not wish to raise alarm that one of those that they look up to for guidance has lost his mind. This would create anarchy. I can not have that. I must make a note of it.

Pacing back and forth, the small pile of debris tumbling apart as I stomp through it and I begin again, "Captain log entry. Late morning. It's been one-hundred and thirty-six days..."