Desert island fantasy by peterpateman
Jason’s plane had crashed and sunk into the deep ocean days–weeks?–before. The storm they’d gone through hadn’t seemed so terrible at first, but quickly picked up speed and intensity, knocking the plane this way and that until it finally plummeted.
He’d ended up on an island, nearly smothered by his life jacket having scooched up his chest, with no sign of anyone else from the plane in sight. Debris and fronds were scattered on the beach he found himself on, and he had to bite his lip and breathe deeply through his nose to prevent a scream of despair.
And it was days–actually days, this time–until he could bring himself to be fully motivated to scrounge up literally anything he could to keep himself alive. It didn’t take him long to resign himself to the fact that he’d more than likely die on this island (he had no delusions of grandeur that his situation would turn out like Cast Away), but he’d rather it not be due to starvation.
He spent a day walking the beach, confirming that what he’d landed on was in fact an island and, sadly, not attached to a larger land mass that could bring him to civilization. But who knew what was in the center of the island–people, animals, death, maybe just trees. He wasn’t ready to explore too deeply in there just yet.
Even that day of walking and exploring tested him–another storm rolled past at around midday, and Jason had to take shelter in the trees for a good hour or two before it passed. At this point he just assumed nature was out to get him. But it provided shallow pools of fresh water to drink, at least, and that was a small blessing he’d gladly take.
And his life continued in this manner for those day-weeks that he lost count of.
Finally he ventured into the center of the island, where it seemed mostly birds and lizards of some kind flapped and scuttled about the place. And snakes. But he loathed those, so anytime he heard a telltale slithering he promptly turned around.
But it seemed his avoidance of these natural obstacles was futile. If it wasn’t snakes, it was sudden dips in the earth, trying desperately to twist his ankle. If not that, draping vines trying to trip or catch him up, weak attempts at throttling him if he was distracted enough. Worst of all were the foods he’d attempt to eat, only to discover before his starving, salivating mouth had to stop short at a sudden putrid smell or foul taste. Or, worse still, when he didn’t catch on and ended up violently ill afterwards.
His (he’d thought) long-gone childhood habit of spitting in distaste at things that displeased him came back with a vengeance on this island, and he cursed his luck and nature for dooming him to spend his remaining days here.
Apologies for the quality of this one and the lack of WPW last week–after a vacation I was pulling double-duty at the jobs and it kept me rather busy! But I think I should be good to go again. Slowly(ish) getting caught up with work!
Wanted to focus on some descriptions for this one. I think it turned out okay, but I can definitely do better. This turned out a lot shorter than I planned, but I… also didn’t really have a plan for where it would go. Guess poor Jason is just stuck there.