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Day One - Jet Lag


I'm so glad it's Sunday. Both of my flights have been on schedule and the food at LAX was good, for a change. I took the limo to a smaller air strip just outside of San Diego to meet my pilot, Dwight Miller. I am Josephine Moore; I developed a biodegradable soap, 12 years ago and Dwight Miller has been my pilot for the past ten years.
Dwight will fly us to Hawaii, where we'll change from helicopter to a pontoon plane. Then our flight continues to a tiny island close to the Solomon Islands. It almost seems silly to travel so far just to relax for 4 days on an uninhabited island. The Atlantic Seaboard is dotted with them but most don't have fresh water to drink or trees for food and shade. On Friday morning, Dwight will take me to Sidney, Australia where I'll meet my husband and begin our second honeymoon. Another pilot will be bringing a visitor Wednesday afternoon but that's all I know.


Day one - The Storm

Dwight knew this storm would be bad and that we couldn't avoid it. The closest land was the island we were heading for. I couldn't see it yet and the sky was getting angry, fast. He didn't have to tell me to strap on my life jacket but what I was looking for was the raft and parachutes. He said not to worry about the chutes in this type of a storm. As he spoke I found where the raft was and just pulled it a little closer to me. I double checked my life jacket straps and blew the whistle, lightly. Dwight told me to take the controls while he strapped into his life jacket. I could feel the sudden up drafts that for me were gentle but I could tell this was just the beginning of a nasty gale.
Lightning struck the tail and I grabbed the raft, located the cord and watched Dwight. He nodded and I deployed and dropped the raft just seconds before we crashed. I unstrapped my safety harness and looked over at Dwight who was already opening his door. My window was down so I just slipped through it before the copter started taking in water. Now to the raft. The storm obliged us by sending streaks of lightning so we could see both the raft and the island. I pretended not to notice when a large warm object bumped my hip. I was getting to this raft but this object demanded respect and when the storm sent another streak of lightning we clearly saw the dorsal fin. I didn't change course or speed but dove into the raft as best I could as Dwight was there and holding it steady. I grabbed the waist band of his jeans and leaned back with all of my might. The Shark bumped the raft just once and then we were drifting toward the island. Just before I drifted off to sleep I asked Dwight if He or I were bleeding, one last time the sky seemed to obey by sending more lightning, we had all of our limbs and digits!



Day Two - The Storms Aftermath


Dawn was breaking over the ocean with soft tinges of pale pink to blushing peach to lavender with mauve trying its best to cover the night sky. Pearl white sand beach stretched from one horizon to the next with gentle waves rolling into the bay. Not an angry cloud was to be found as if a giant eraser had been waved to blot out last night's terrible storm.

The huts were simple, 5 in a semicircle around the bay of lapis lazuli colored water that was crystal clear. I walked over to closest hut and climbed stairs, past the first landing that was a wrap around deck up to the door. It was latched to the floor because it was a hurricane shutter. In the Pacific, hurricanes are called typhoons, 'big wind'.
The sparsely furnished hut had one square table, two wooden folding chairs and two hammocks and only had a few decorations, four hurricane lamps, one pitcher and basin with a mirror hanging on the wall above it. Two of the hurricane lamps were on a long wooden shelf that ran the whole width of the north facing wall, just above the shelf hung the mirror and below it was the table and chairs. The north and south walls were solid with no windows and the south facing wall, had a shelf with the other two lamps. Two windows with hurricane shutters on the east facing wall with the door between them and it too was a hurricane shutter that doubled as a porch roof. The west facing wall had three windows with hurricane shutters. The hammocks were on the south wall and anchored to the pylons coming up through the floor. Mosquito netting was rolled up and tied to the ceiling above each hammock, thus completing the 2 minute tour.

I went around to every window and propped them open and moved on to the next hut and did the same. While I was airing out the huts, Dwight was gathering food and water so I grabbed a couple of buckets from the outside shower closets and met up with him at the lagoon.

The lagoons waterfall could just barely be seen from the deck of the huts. I could have taken a canoe but my arms were pretty sore and I knew I would need my strength for fire building and food gathering. I filled the two buckets directly from the waterfall and placed them in the canoe as Dwight came up with an arm load of wood. I took off for the fruit trees that surrounded the lagoon and as I walked I took off my outer shirt and tied it around my waist so I would be able to carry our daily allowance, plus some for snacking. I told Dwight that I would see him before he had the fire blazing, which turned out to be true!



Day Three - Where There's Smoke

Dwight and I decided to walk the circumference of the island. We brought a bucket of water with us and took turns carrying it while the other ate. We walked as far as we could before reaching the steep cliffs. We both wanted to reach the top of the island. We found an easier way once we turned around, tucked behind a huge boulder was a narrow path that must have been ancient. Perhaps this was a dried stream bed. We climbed as carefully as we could and once again took turns carrying the bucket.
The climb was worth the sweat but after enjoying the view we realized our perilous situation. The island was on fire and the lagoon and the bay were the safest and furthest away from this blaze.
"Dwight, do you think the storm did this?", I asked.
"That would be my guess", Dwight answered
We both hadn't said very much before now. I think we knew it was too soon to make dinner reservations and buy concert tickets for any future dates with our spouses. We were both waiting to see what each hour brought. For me, I was hoping Wednesday afternoon brought rescue. Dwight was hoping we could make it through the night.


Day Four - Rescue or Recovery?

I was making my third canoe trip carrying all of the buckets I could find full of water from the lagoon. While I was dousing the huts roof top with water, Dwight was cutting a fire line in the jungle. He found a fierce looking rock that could pass for an ancient pick axe. It was even 'L' shaped but Dwight still had to get on his knees to work. As with most men, who don't know when to take a break, I brought him water, handed him the bucket and said,
"It's your turn." I tossed him a piece of fruit, too.
"I'll be back soon.", He said.
"I've only made three trips and have been dousing just one hut. It'll will take all of the water we can haul.", I smiled and then added, "Besides we're not digging the Holland Tunnel!" I almost dug as far as he had when he returned. Carrying two freshly grilled fish kabobs, a bucket of water and more fruit. What a feast!
"How?", is all I dared to ask.
"They volunteered.", He laughed and said, "Really, they just leaped into the canoe."
We had just stood up to walk back to the hut after digging to the back side of the waterfall when we heard a pontoon plane. Like two kids, we took off running.

The pilot was speaking English with a heavy Australian accent,
"Did you know this island's on fire?"
"I laughed", and said, "No, I always look this way."

As he turned his sea plane around we quickly removed as much sandy dirt as we could from our jeans. With what was left of the water in the bucket we washed our faces and hands. Dwight ran to secure the canoe and all the shutters.

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Please accept this as my final story. I ask a moderator to delete the original that I feel was breaking the "no supplies" rule.

So the word limit is 2250?

Hmm...I think I spent too much time on getting onto the island...

So I can write over 2250? Or will I be penalised?

2650 words...will I get penalised for that? I hopes not...

You will. 5000 will be next round, but I really don't want to change it again. It wouldn't be fair to some people. So you will need to shorten it.

Oh I so look forward to cutting out 400 words.

Oh well...

Sleep beckons...

~ Part 1 - The Door~

It was a balmy night, my clothes sticking to my sweat covered body. Rolling over in bed I tried to get comfortable, but nothing seemed to work. The air conditioner spluttered and gurgled, trying to combat the humidity and losing. Eventually it fell silent and I lay, spread out on the bed, listening to my breathing, soon falling asleep.

Suddenly thirsty, I woke and left my bed, heading out into the kitchen for a cool glass of water. Pulling a glass from the cupboard, I opened the fridge expecting a refreshing blast of cool air. Instead, I was hit with the rank odour of sour milk. Gagging, I shut the door and turned towards the sink.

Placing the glass down on the bench, I pulled off my shirt and used it to wipe the sweat from my face and neck. I grasped the tap, which was grossly warm, and turned it - hoping for a sweet stream of refreshing liquid.

The pipes rattled and shook, the noises echoing around the room. Once it had fallen silent, a small flow of clear water began to trickle from the tap. I quickly placed my glass underneath, and watched as slowly filled. I turned the tap more, hoping for more pressure, but was disappointed.

By now the glass was half full of the clean water and looked very tasty. The tap banged and rattled some more but I ignored it, closing my eyes to the heat. Soon, I heard the glass overflowing and water running down the drain. Groaning, I opened my eyes and looked in the sink at the glass.

The sight made me sick, my once clean water was now brown with muck which flowed from the tap at an alarming rate. I quickly shut the tap and felt strangely triumphant as the brown water flow came to a stop. This feeling quickly died as I realised I had nothing to drink anymore. Letting myself slide down the cupboard and onto the floor, I tried to decide what to do next.

After some time, I pulled myself up and staggered to the front door. Grasping the handle I turned it, the lock clicking undone, and then pulled it slowly open.

The sight I saw was stunning and caused me to stand in the doorway with my mouth open like an idiot. I saw an open desert plain, right out my door, complete with cacti! The heat wafted in through the door in waves over me until I finally came to my senses and slammed the door shut.

As the door clicked into the lock, the temperature in the room began to sharply drop. It hit the nice twenties before continuing downwards. Soon I was starting to shiver and not long after that my breathing began to float away from me in a powdery cloud. Confused, I opened the door again.

This time, I was staring into a snow filled wasteland. Snow was blown through the doorway by strong winds and I could feel myself going numb from the cold. Once again I slammed the door shut and tried to pull my hand away from the doorknob, only to feel the skin tear away where it had frozen to the metal.

Nursing my bleeding fingers, I felt the temperature change again. I opened the door and was this time looking into a dense pine forest experiencing a heavy downpour. The sound of rain was tremendous. Remembering my thirst, grabbed a shoe from near the door and placed it as a stopper to hold the door open as I went and retrieved my glass.

Back at the door, I slowly reached out my arm with the glass through the door.

As the first drops of rain hit my hand I felt a slight tingle, but after that it just felt like normal rain. Although I was tempted, I resisted the urge to jump into the rain and simply filled my glass up, drinking deeply.

Now that my thirst was quenched, I stood and pondered why my door had suddenly become a portal! Curious, I began to open and close it quickly. Various scenes flashed before me; huge mountains, dark caves, savannah plains and dense jungle. A new location with every click of the lock!
Disaster soon struck in the most inconvenient way possible. The door opened on the top of a snow covered mountain with the most amazing views of the surrounding mountain range. As I admired the view, a strong gust of wind tore the door out of my hand and pushed it back against the wall. A mound of snow then slid inside.

Grasping hold of the door, I tried to close it but was unable to due to the snow which had formed a mound on my doorframe. With my bare foot I tried to push it away, which was only effective if I pulled it towards me, into my house. I finally cleared it and was able to shut the door.

Looking at my numb foot, I knew I had to find a warm climate place to stop it from falling off. I opened the door again and for the first time found myself looking out over an ocean. The water was calm and crystal clear, the sun high in the blue sky glistening on the small waves.

Water lapped the doorframe onto my bare toes. Carefully, I dipped my frozen foot into the water, which I found to be warm. Annoyingly, the way in which I was standing hindered this movement and I could not submerge my whole foot. Holding onto the doorframe and outer door handle, I moved other foot to a better position.

Unfortunately, the place I put it down happened to be covered in snow and I slipped. I lost my grip on both the doorframe and handle, which caused me to plunge into the water. As I fell, I managed to grab the bottom of the door with one hand, and I slowly pulled myself up. As I was just getting my chest out of the water the door, moving from when I had fallen in while still holding it, pushed my fingers off and me back into the water.

I drifted below the water in shock for some time, until my natural need for air brought me to the surface. Pushing the water from my eyes, I looked around for the door. It was gone. Despair fell heavily on me. I was stuck in the middle of an ocean with no way of getting home.

I went limp and only kept myself above the water. Time passed nonchalantly as my mind turned itself off and I just drifted.

~ Part 2 - The Island ~

It may have been soon, or it may have been never, could have been hours, and could have been seconds, but eventually I felt sand beneath my feet. I let the tide continue to carry me until I was laying on the sandy floor in water no deeper than up to my knees. I lay there, making sure my head was not in the water as the tide receded and I was left on a pile of wet sand.

Shakily, I stood. I turned to see where I had washed up. It was a tropical island, complete with palm trees and a white sandy beach on which I had washed up on. It was of moderate size; however the jungle in the middle restricted me from seeing the other side.

Looking down at white sand beneath my feet, I saw my hand and suddenly realised how much it was stinging. The salt water had done a good job at it so now it was red, but no longer bleeding.

Turning around once more I sat down on the sand and looked out to see. The sun was low in the sky directly in front of me - it was early morning. I watched the soft waves roll in for a while before I decided to explore the island.

Standing, I began to walk along the beach line. Knowing that I could go round in circles forever, I moved to the nearest pine tree and collected several old coconuts from around its base. Then, laying them in a line, I marked the point at which I would start.

It took around an hour for me to traverse the perimeter of the island; finding nothing of interest aside from a few dead fish washed up on shore and and the skull of what I assumed had once belonged to a monkey. Reaching the coconuts, I lay on the sand and closed my eyes.

I once again woke to a raging thirst and found myself in the horrible position of being surrounded by water and not being able to drink any. I turned from the ocean and stared at the dark jungle, knowing that it was my only chance of finding clean drinking water.

With a sense of foreboding, I entered the jungle fringe and immediately felt the temperatue change from pleasant warmth to a humid heat which immediately felt turn my sweat glands into overdrive. I continued into the jungle, the trees growing closer with every step, and hoped that I would find some water soon.

Now tripping over vines I travelled into the heart of the island, keeping an eye out for water. Leaves and leeches had managed to stick to me without my notice, and every so often I walked straight through a swarm of small biting insects. I was immediately wishing that I was back in my bedroom.

I did not fear getting lost, as I knew that if I kept walking in any direction I would end up on a beach in less than half an hour.

After some time I came upon an area that was clear of trees and vines. Instead, it held a large stone with a hollow in its centre. Inside this hollow was a small pool of crystal clear water. I stumbled towards it and collapsed at the stones base.

It was lucky that I did fall down at the stone rather than immediately drinking, as when I fell I saw strange carvings above the water. Standing, using the stone to support me, I investigated these carvings and found that it was a rhyme, written in English.

Tracing the letters, I read it;

From this stone water will spring,
For all hours of the day.
But if you have a greedy heart,
You'd do best to stay away.

For fire can spring just like water,
But acts quite opposite.
Where water is easily consumed,
Fire consumes with a bite.

So traveller of doors beware,
When you drink, do take care.

Slightly puzzled by the abstract nature of the poem, I tried to ponder it until my dehydrated body threatened to make me fall to the ground again. It was time to drink.

with a cupped hand I scooped some water from within the stone and drank it, the cool elixer running down my throat like a miracle. Dipping my head to the water I drank more. The water tasted normal - like water chestnuts - and in no time at all my thirst was quenched.

That was when I made a wrong choice. I did not know when I would be able to drink again, or if I would even be able to find this clearing again, so I continued to drink until I felt bloated with water. I did not notice anything different until my tongue scraped the bottom of the depression. Confused, I saw that the water was almost gone and was actually disappearing by itself into the stone.

Confused, I stepped back as the last drops of water seemed to disappear into the stone. There was an odd gurgling and then something else began to fill the pool. It was bright yellow and seemed to dance with the breeze. Only when the pool was filled with it did I realise that it was some kind of magical fire.

The fire seemed to pause and observe the clearing before beginning to overflow down the sides of the stone. When it hit the ground, it immediately sprung up and expanded quickly in a perfect circle. Scared, I was rooted to the spot; even though I longed to move.

It was only when the fire began to bite my toes that my trance was broken. I turned and ran as fast as I could from the clearing into the jungle. Jumping over fallen brances and vines I made my way in whatever direction looked easiest to traverse. I did not look back once however I knew that the fire was, so to speak, hot on my heels.

Eventually I made it onto the beach and then sprinted for the water. It was only once I was safely up to my waist that I turned back.

The island was gone. In its place was an inferno rising high into the sky. I watched as the fire spread onto the sand and towards the water. Subconsciously I stepped back in fear, until my view of the island was impeded by a huge cloud of steam accompanied by a hiss that seemed to come from all angles. The steam enveloped me, and so I turned and dived into the water and swam some meters until the water felt cooler.

Now in over my head, I looked back at the island and admired the beauty of the black smoke emerging from within the white clouds of steam.

By now, the sun was getting lower in the sky, and would soon set. As I watched it slide towards the horizon, I saw something in the distance casting large shadow over the water. A slight spark of hope springing within me, I swam towards it.

When I reached it, I knew I had found what I was looking for. It was my sky blue door, half covered in water. This puzzled me for a moment until I guessed that the tide had come in since I had first fallen through. As I examined the door, I realised that this was a helpful occurrence as I could now open the door.

Grasping the door handle, I turned it.

It was locked.

My heart fell and I was tempted to just let myself sink beneath the waves for good, or go back and throw myself in the fire. That was until I felt something poking me in my upper thigh.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my house keys, surprised that they had managed to stay in my pocket the entire time and confused at why I would have had them in my pocket when my adventure began when I was in bed. I would have to think about this matter later; right now I just wanted to get home.

I placed the key in the lock and turned, hearing the click as the lock...unlocked...and then turned the handle to open the door. The door was pushed quickly open as the seawater rushed in. I was pushed in with it, but managed to hold onto the door and close it thanks to the wall.

As I pushed the door shut, the water stopped coming in and I sank to the ground. My lounge room was filled with a small layer of seawater that was sinking into a the carpet. I was slightly worried about trying to explain that to landlord, but at the moment i was just happy, because I was home.

Can I be in it? Ill start writing my story!

Yeah, I don't think JDogg would feel comfortable if you joined. Just saying, because of your thread and all? I don't know, maybe he has pity.

7 more days until the deadline.
Better start hurrying up.

Just remember kiddos, once the deadline is up and you haven't submitted, you're goin' bye-bye. Nothing personal-- we just can't have inactive participants holding us back, y'know?

I am almost finished, I am still writing and researching so don't think I am inactive. I just didn't want to spam this page with 1,057 words. Which I ironically have just done.

I had always wanted to live in a big house with my friends. We would often dream of a large white mansion with open doors swinging in the wind. Our parents would be there too, bringing us food and hugs when we were tired of playing. In our dream-land money did not exist.

I heard the cool blue waters splash roughly against the side of the boat. I saw nothing in the darkness. My body felt a mass of temperatures. Toes cold and wet in the leaking hull, legs itching from the constant irritation that my feet could no longer feel, my upper body ached and sweated as those around me compressed. I coughed. Not a soft sunny afternoon cough, a throat and lung scratching, weary cough. My hope was intact.

We often pictured school. The windows were open and a cool breeze would waft delightful smells from the garden. Our teacher would lean on the sill and teach us of the importance of the world. We would be happy.

Noises emanated from the surface. A loud creak as the trapdoor swung open. Mother gripped my hand. The boat shook as feet pounded above our heads. The light from the trapdoor illuminated the frightened faces around me. Blue-clad men reached from the trapdoor and delivered my starving and smelling kin. I was grasped under the arm and pulled roughly into the sunlight as a babe. My mother's hand slackened and finally let go. As I was led onto a different vessel I heard guns being fired.

I loved playing games with my friends. As we threw balls to each other we imagined playing for national teams. The crowd would roar as I sprinted in to deliver the final shot. People would know my name.

I awoke on a bed. The depressing heat dazed as I stood up. Littered around the tent were clippings of newspapers and dust. The dust decorated the otherwise sparse layout of the tent. I picked up a small clipping. It read:

No More Boat People!
The Australian Government has vowed to stop the influx of arrivals via boat, much to the relief of the Australian public. "A processing system has been introduced that determines who comes into our country and the circumstances in which they come", said the Prime Minister yesterday outside Parliament House. The new system has come timely for the current government with the election looming only days away. The new strategy involves an enforcement and stoppage of human-cargo smuggling. The opposition leader rejected the idea by claiming that "Boat-people are not going to be deterred by the new campaign proposed by the current government, action is needed". Opinion polls are identifying a lead for the...

The paper had been torn in half.

Mountains of food piled high in front of my eyes. Chicken, rice, fruit, anything that I dreamed of, the lone bread in front of me wavered as my mind began to wander.

I was escorted from the tent. I couldn't stand on my own feet. The water from the boat had seeped into my bones and my soul. I was led through a maze of corrugated shacks and halls, past the unblinking eyes of rough-skinned dwellers. The blues, as I had come to know them as, shoved me into a ramshackle shed. By the looks of it, it was the most dangerous part of the whole area. A large blue was waiting for me behind a worn-out desk.

"Well, well." He said "another boat-person." He waited for a response. When none was forthcoming he blurted "Haven't you got anything to say? Lousy boaties... Haven't heard of 'F*ck off, we're full'?" He approached me. I detected a faint smell of smoke around his shirt. Tobacco. I recoiled at the smell as a fist rushed towards my face.

My father had been an obsessive smoker. As the war in our country waged on and we were forced into a depression he still found money to buy his cigarettes. We once went hungry for three days as my father filled his addiction. Mother never objected to his need lest she wanted the back of his hand. I had tried smoking one of the cigarette butts I found in the paddock near where we were hiding when my father saw me. He accused me of stealing one from his supplies and compromising our hiding spot. I could not walk for a week after that day.

I tried to open my eyes. They were glued shut. I slowly raised my hands to my face and lightly played them across the bumps. Suddenly a sharp pain darted across my face like an ice bath. My hands snapped to my sides as the pain intensified in my face. As I cried with agony the tears softened the blood holding my eyes closed. After a time the sense lulled and I forced my eyes open. I wasn't alone. Sitting across from me in a makeshift chair was a dark-skinned man. I stared at him. He stared at me. He had the appearance of a starved dog. The eyes told of a greater mind though. He spoke.
"Hello, I am Mohammed."
It was the first time I had wanted to respond in a long time. I couldn't. My eyes widened in terror as I realised I couldn't converse. The movement of my eyes irritated my face. I wept as Mohammed was blurred from my vision.

Several days later I had come to terms with my circumstances. The boundaries lay before me in the form of chicken wire fencing. The authority was a balding man who had no clue as to the circumstance of the island. The blues paid him no attention and instead listened to the blue that had hit me. My place upon this dry and cracked hell had been cemented.

Mohammed had become my only friend on the island. We communicated through writing because I could no longer speak. Luckily I had taken writing classes as a child, before the madness started. Mohammed was very interested in politics, as he had come from war-torn country spurred by the government. He kept me up to date with our situation. The election was due the next day that determined our future as 'boat people' or refugees. It was not looking good for us.

Before dawn I was swept out of bed with the barrel of a gun. Confused and tired I was marched towards the food hall. The sky was red. The blue pushed me into the shelter and closed the door behind me. A chain scraped on the door and I heard the blue jog away. I was facing a room filled with distraught and tired faces. Mohammed approached. "We are finished." I was confused. He read my expression and declared "the island is burning, the low winds have kept us alive for this long but they are unsure when it will change." I started banging and rattling on the door, trying to find an escape. "No, they have left. Apparently we are worth sacrificing for the bigot vote."

I closed my eyes. My mother swam into my vision. Her soft skin warmed my face. My eyelids illuminated. I raised my hands and covered my face. Her gentle voice spoke to me. I heard yelling and screaming from those around me. The familiar scent of her perfume mixed with my father's tobacco. Burning flesh filled my nostrils. I opened my eyes and saw a wall of flame rush towards me. I embraced my mother and united with her for the last time.

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**note**
[url=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas_island#Refugee_and_immigration_detention]loosely based[url]

dang sorry for the triple post. fixed

W

Yeah, I don't think JDogg would feel comfortable if you joined. Just saying, because of your thread and all? I don't know, maybe he has pity.