I somehow survived the plane crash. Even without a parachute, I knew hitting the water would be better than hitting the island it was going down on. So I'd jumped.
The pilot hadn't fared so well, and my friend Stephen had landed on the beach, having jumped just after me. I didn't dare try to get close enough to see his body. I was sick just thinking about it.
The plane landed off the beach, carving a scar into the island that would remain for decades. I know I need to get to it, try the radio, find supplies. But for now I just sit on the beach, shivering and trying to collect my thoughts.
The plane crashed. We were out with Stephan's friend, taking a spontaneous flight out from the resort. The whole reason we'd wanted his pilot buddy along on our date was because we both enjoyed when he joined us in bed, and the plane. We couldn't have afforded the trip without the plane.
I choke back a sob and stagger to my feet as the wind gusts forcefully. The dark grey sky looms ominously low, promising more severe weather. The waves we had flown over had been massive, easily able to capsize a ship the size of the one we'd seen before the alarms started flashing. I looked like they were going to come to the island as well. I move back from the beach, all the way to the tree line. Rain starts to fall, more rain than I've ever been in. It feels like buckets are being dumped over me.
I find a spot under a large leaved tree where I can be relatively dry. I know I need to get to the plane, I'm practically screaming it in the back of my head. But my exhausted, bruised body has been through so much, the thought of treating through the undergrowth to get to the plane is overwhelming.
I sit down, hoping my hands stop trembling soon. I've never felt so alone, so helpless. So vulnerable. I don't know if anything lives on this island, but the weather looks like it's going to be the biggest challenge I face.