Hi. My name is Thomas Greenware. I'm fourteen years old. And this is my journal. I took it with me on the cruise ship; my English teacher said she would give me extra credit if I wrote about what happened. Of course, I really doubt that I'll ever be able to get back, and even if I did, a bad English grade is the least of my worries. But for some reason, I've decided to write about my ventures in what I've dubbed "Red Island", for no apparent reason whatsoever. There's no one here to read my journal, so why would I write it? Maybe because I want something to pass the time, maybe it gives me hope, maybe the feeling that I'm not entirely alone here. I don't know, but I do know that I am writing the journal, for whatever reason. Now, it's been a few days since the storm and crash, so my memories are a bit fuzzy on the details there, but from that point onward, it's written as it goes. -Tommy Greenware
After much persuasion, I finally got my parents to let me go with my friend Gage on a boating trip. More difficult was to convince the school, but after many promises(one of which was to write this journal)I finally convinced them as well. So I'm packing my bags today, and we're setting off the Pacific coast in a few hours.
I'm feeling really seasick right now. After setting sail joyously, that turned sour. A few hours in, I started vomiting like there was no tomorrow off the port side(I learned a year or two ago that port means left on a ship). So right now I'm laying in bed under the deck, feeling woozy. My heavy pack is uncomfortable against my back, the food is awful(or maybe that's because I'm sick), and I am starting to wish I'm back home.
The captain says we might have to turn back. The weather report says that a storm just off the southern California coast is headed in our general direction, and it's best to avoid. He says it will most likely veer away from us, but it's best never to take unnecessary risks. I half want to stay and half want to go back. I feel sick, but the ocean is so calm and beautiful. Gage is wholeheartedly against turning back, but it's easy for him to say. He's never gotten seasick, he's been on a boat lots of times before, and he's athletic enough to even help row the boat sometimes. His parents are rich enough to own about five boats. Honestly, sometimes I just want to throttle him. But for now, I'm too sick to even get out of bed, let alone attack a jock twice my size.
This could possibly be a book in the future if you played your cards right
And you know this how? Not to be rude, but it's kind of hard to take advice like that coming from a guy who doesn't know grammar. March 6 will be released soon. That's when it starts getting good =)
I woke up with an awful headache, but a better stomach. I managed to get up out of bed and take a few shaky steps aboveboard, which was a real accomplishment for me. It was beautiful out; the bright sun shining, the waves gently rippling out away from the prow of the boat, and even a few fish visible. The most beautiful was the red sky that arose with the waking sun. Gage grinned and waved at me from the starboard side affably. I smiled and waved back, then went back below deck, glad that I had come. I fell asleep almost immediately. I awoke to an ear shattering BAM! and the squealing, wrenching sound of metal grinding against stone. I sat up too fast, and immediately felt woozy and sat back down. I felt utterly helpless and unable to move as the boat began to tilt. With an extreme feat of willpower, I sat up and got up from the hard, but warm bed. I wobbled up, and would have sworn if I hadn't been raised differently. Rain and hail poured down as if they were icy fists hailing down from they sky to punish us for something, the once-serene water roared and splashed chaotically, lightning struck the ground and ocean alike, thunder boomed and cracked, and the out of control ship swayed and smashed against another rock. None of this did any good for my seasickness. I collapsed to the ground and threw up again, the vomit spilling across the deck of the ship. I vaguely heard a gruff voice shouting. The boat tipped severely to the left, and I found myself slipping and falling into my own vomit, feeling disgusted. The icy water soon cleaned it away, but I had bigger problems. The boat stayed veered to the left, and I seemed to recall that was supposed to be some sort of bad sign. Water was making the deck slippery and hard to walk on, hail the size of my fist pounded against my skull like rocks, heavy barrels rolled around(which I found myself needing to dodge to avoid being knocked over), and the freezing water splashed everywhere, soaking my skin and chilling me to the bone. Finally, I fainted, and my unconscious body slid across the swiftly-sinking ship like one of the barrels.
Red Island has this very nice ring to it. And the story is good. Yet another great piece from Moat. I think I'm a fan of your writing now...
Thank you! The compliment is appreciated =) The ring...maybe my choice of words? Or maybe the smoothness(I tried to make it not-choppy). Yayz! I have my first fan! March 7 will be released in a while. Whenever I feel like it
Mud oozing into my mouth, my nose, everywhere. Darkness; I can't see anything. A funny buzzing noise, and tingling everywhere. Pain. Lots of it. Throbbing and stinging everywhere. I awoke to this. Or was I awake? I couldn't be sure. Was I dead? Or worse; was I alive, but blind? I just wanted to lay there forever, wherever I was. But the mud, the pain, the buzzing, became unbearable, and with a massive effort, I sat up. Sat up. That means I'm not dead, I thought to myself. But I still couldn't see. I realized that was because there was mud in my eyes, even though I'd sat up out of it, and I painfully rubbed it out with my hands, noticing that they were encrusted with blood and mud. Spitting out gobbles of mud, wiping it out of my ears, sneezing it out of my nose, it was a mess of the constricting mud. Finally, coughing up the last of it, struggling with the pain of the headache, the aches, the scrapes, I looked around and at myself. I swatted away the mosquitoes, flies, and gnats that had been making the buzzing sound. On one side, I was surrounded by a now calm blue ocean. On the other, I saw muddy beaches stretching out in a long strip alongside the sea, then being encompassed by huge, craggy red cliffs and overhangs. The mud was slick and sticky, and I was slowly sinking in it. With an almighty effort I hauled myself out, eliciting a loud POP! and disgusting sucking sound from the mud. Hobbling to the ocean, I stared balefully at my reflection in the water, stared at a stranger. A boy with brown hair spiky and messy with mud, blood, sweat, and saltwater. Brown, red-rimmed(from the saltwater) eyes glaring out from a scabbed and dirty face. A broken nose shaped rather like a lightning bolt framed in the middle of that face, along with several lumps and bruises. Ragged, desecrated, filthy remnants of a T-shirt, sandals, and jeans. Arms covered with mosquito bites and ugly red and purple welts. Scraped-red legs also covered with slimy mud and bites. I stared at this horrifying reflection of myself. "Where am I?" I muttered to myself, my raspy voice cracking. "What will I do?"
Hm. Not really popular, is this story? Aw well, who cares? The continuation of March 7! March 7, 2009
I finally left the mud beach and headed inland. For a few hours I just sat on a somewhat flat rock on top of a knoll, waiting for someone to rescue me, shivering, soaked to the skin as freezing gusts of wind blew strong. But after a while, my brain started to work again. I knew that people would start to look for us after a while. But the trip was supposed to last a week. It had only been two days. I couldn't last five days without any food, water, or shelter. I had to do something. But what? I had nothing but my clothes(which were pretty shredded as it were), and besides, I was battered, scraped, and half-buried in stinking sludgy mud. It all looked downright hopeless. I couldn't survive. I wasn't smart like Tanya or strong like Gage. There was no food, no water, and even if I knew how to build a shelter and could, there was no wood around to do it with. I stared out at the sea. It seemed a cruel paradox; all that water sloshing not inches away, and just as I thought this, my throat began to constrict and dry. I was getting thirsty. Don't think of water, I told myself fiercely. Anything but water. But my attempts only made me even thirstier. Then I blinked. Of course! Thirst, desperation, the wounds, they must be making me stupid, I thought. I have my cell phone! I looked down. There it was, safely strapped to my belt. I reached down and plucked it out, and deftly opened it. Then I cried out as it shocked me, and flung it instinctively over the rocks, sending it sailing out of view, to tumble down stones and rocky hills. Nursing my shocked fingers, I stumbled along the cliffs and hills, often almost falling. The first tendrils of hunger began to gnaw at the pit of my stomach, anxiety rubbed my heart raw, and thirst was a constant enemy, scraping at my dry throat. I stared furiously out at the ocean and the wreckage of the boat. "WHY!?" I bellowed to the empty, roaring seas. I picked up a stone at random and braced myself to skip it angrily out to sea. But it sliced my finger, and I dropped it, shaking my injured hand and yelping with pain. I stared at the bloodstained culprit. I picked up the stone, intending to hurl it out to sea. But then I looked again. It was sharp. It was a tool. It could help me. I pocketed the sharp stone and sat down to think.I needed food. But I had none. And even if I did, I had no fire to cook it. Wait, I said to myself. Stop thinking like that. Be open-minded and look at the positive side. My eyes glazed over the wreckage of the ship. Of course, I thought. I might find something in there. I hauled myself up off the rock I'd been sitting on, and continued to the skeleton of the ship with new determination. I had nothing. But I wasn't going to let that keep me down.
