Suddenly Alone — Part One
A heavy storm had been raging over the Atlantic Ocean for two days straight, forcing the sailors aboard the Dame Maria to fight relentlessly to keep their ship running and safe.
Steven had been running from starboard to port and back again for several hours. He couldn’t even remember how long precisely. One thing he did know was that he was exhausted.
And suddenly, just when he thought things couldn’t possibly get any worse, the ship broke in two, tearing the crew apart.
Steven desperately tried to grab onto something, anything, but couldn’t hold himself to the ship in time. He was thrown into the raging water.
The last thing he heard before everything faded to black was someone yelling:
“Man overboard! Mayday!”
Clinging to a wooden pole, he drifted away as the storm, the ship, and the voices around him slowly turned into a blur.
The first thing Steven heard when he slowly regained consciousness was the sound of waves.
For a moment, he didn’t move.
His entire body hurt. His clothes were soaked, his mouth tasted of salt, and something rough pressed against the side of his face.
Sand.
He slowly opened his eyes.
Bright sunlight forced him to close them again almost immediately. He raised one hand above his face and tried once more.
Blue sky.
He turned his head.
Ocean.
Suddenly, the memories returned.
The storm.
The Dame Maria.
The ship breaking apart.
“Hello?” he called weakly.
There was no answer.
Steven pushed himself upright and looked along the beach.
“Hello!”
Still nothing.
He got to his feet, stumbling at first as his exhausted legs struggled to carry him. Pieces of wood were scattered across the beach. Some were little more than splinters, while others clearly came from the ship.
But there was no sign of the Dame Maria itself.
And, more importantly, no sign of anyone else.
Steven stood still for a moment, staring at the ocean.
“Where the hell am I?”
He had no idea how long he had been drifting. Hours? Perhaps even longer?
There was no point in standing there wondering about it.
Not yet.
First, he needed to find out where he was.
He began walking along the shoreline, occasionally calling out in the hope that someone else had washed ashore somewhere nearby.
Nobody answered.
It didn’t take him very long to discover something he had desperately hoped wouldn’t be true.
The beach curved.
And kept curving.
Eventually, after walking around the coastline, Steven found himself staring at his own footprints in the sand.
He swallowed.
It was an island.
A small one.
And as far as he could tell, he was the only person on it.
“Great,” he muttered.
He looked out across the endless ocean.
“Just great.”
There was little time for self-pity. If nobody knew where he was, he needed to survive long enough for someone to find him.
Steven continued exploring the beach, paying closer attention to the debris that had washed ashore. Most of it was useless: broken pieces of wood, torn fabric and pieces of rope too short to do much with.
Then, further along the beach, he noticed something half buried in the wet sand.
A wooden crate.
He hurried towards it.
The crate was battered and one of its corners had broken away, but it was still largely intact. Steven dragged it farther onto the beach before forcing it open.
Inside were a few simple things.
A small knife.
A hammer.
Several metres of rope.
A box containing a handful of matches, miraculously still dry inside.
Some pieces of cloth.
And underneath them, protected inside a leather folder, several sheets of paper and two pencils.
Steven picked up one of the pencils.
“That’s going to be useful,” he said sarcastically.
He tossed it back into the crate and reached for the knife instead.
That was useful.
For now.
By the time the sun began to sink towards the horizon, Steven was exhausted again.
But at least he had something to show for it.
Using branches, pieces of wreckage and the rope from the crate, he had managed to build a crude shelter near the edge of the beach. It wasn’t exactly a house, but it would protect him from some of the wind and, hopefully, any rain.
A small fire crackled a few metres away.
Steven sat beside it, staring into the flames.
For the first time since waking up, there was nothing he urgently needed to do.
He had explored the island.
He had found water.
He had made shelter.
He had fire.
Tomorrow he would have to think about food and some way of signalling passing ships.
But that was tomorrow.
For now, the island had become quiet.
Steven looked towards the crate.
His eyes stopped on the leather folder.
The paper.
The pencils.
He stared at them for a moment before reaching over and taking one sheet and a pencil.
Perhaps somebody would eventually find this place.
Perhaps somebody would find him.
Or perhaps, if things went badly, they would at least find this.
He rested the paper on his knee and began to write.
Day one.
He paused.
Then continued.
Lost on an unknown island. I don’t know where I am, but I’ll try to find out more.
Steven read the words once.
They weren’t much.
But somehow, seeing them written down made the day feel real.
He placed the pencil beside the paper and leaned back, watching the last light disappear beyond the ocean.
The fire softly crackled beside him.
Waves rolled onto the beach.
And then he heard something else.
Chirp.
Steven lifted his head.
He listened.
Chirp.
The sound came from somewhere nearby, hidden among the vegetation.
A cricket.
For the first time since waking up on the beach, a small smile appeared on Steven’s face.
He looked towards the darkness beyond the fire.
“I’m not alone here after all…”
The cricket chirped again.
Steven smiled and turned back towards the flames.
For tonight, that was enough.
— End of Part One —