UnBooks:The Castaway

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This was approximately what the airplane with the loud engines looked like. Unless it was a jet, in which case it looked completely different.

The roar of the plane's engine was loud. Very loud, in fact. I really don't remember much about the plane itself, but I'm almost positive it had a loud engine. Unless it was a jet... Damn, was it a jet? No...no, it was a plane, I'm sure. But why were we taking a plane across the Pacific Ocean? Well, that day was full of small, little mistakes, which built up and led to a major catastrophe.

Actually, I'd say there were really only two mistakes. The thing about taking an airplane, and giving the pilot rum. If he'd been less drunk, he may not have fallen asleep. Of course, this is all speculation. Who knows for sure whether he wouldn't have just fallen asleep on his own, without any booze at all? Not me, that's for sure.

Anyways, yeah, we crashed. I lived, for some reason, and the pilot didn't. The laws of fate and physics were kind to me that day. Well, not that kind. I mean, we did crash. But still, they were friendly. So, here I was, alone on this deserted Pacific island, with no hope of escape. I was totally fucked. Or so I thought....

The Island

The island. Never had I seen a place more beautiful, nor more empty, nor more needing of some hotel development.

The island appeared to be tropical, with a beautiful, empty beach and a dense tropical jungle within, surrounding a tall central mountain. In layman's terms, it looked exactly like every other small deserted Pacific island. I found myself marveling at the beauty of the empty beach, wondering why on earth no big American corporation had come and put up high-rises there. I didn't pursue the thought.

I knew right away that I'd need the three essentials: Food, shelter, and a television. I decided that two out of three wouldn't be so bad, so I ran off to scavenge for food and televisions. I looked all day, and was marginally successful. I found enough food to sustain myself indefinitely, but no TV. Just as I was about to give up looking, I saw something decidedly shiny sticking out of the sand. "A TV antenna!" I thought to myself. I ran over and found no television, but a small antenna sticking out of a square black device, which displayed a small map on its smaller screen. "GPS" was written in bold white on the back of the device. I was utterly demoralized. "What good will this device do me!?!?" I screamed at nobody in particular. Disgusted, I threw the device far into into the ocean. "What good is a map without a car," I mumbled to myself.

Improving Morale

The forlorn dwelling that would be my "home" of sorts, until I could get some lazy-ass boat driver to come over and pick me up.

These disheartening events had taken a serious toll on my generally collected demeanor. I wasn't thinking straight, and needed to calm myself down. Had I a TV, I'd have watched a good action movie, and tried to convince myself I was a secret agent. With that, I thought back to the despicable "GPS" I had found. I mumbled to myself again: "I know I've heard that acronym before somewhere... Ah no matter."

In lieu of a good TV movie, I'd just have to have a drink. There were a few boxes scattered about the beach, one of them had to contain alcohol. I scoured them all, except one. The last box looked pretty, so pretty. I decided I'd leave it closed: I didn't need it, and I could give it to its rightful owner whenever I got rescued. Still, nothing with a kick in any of the boxes. I found another of the GPS things, although this one I didn't throw. Instead, I grabbed a big rock and smashed it.

Without liquor, I'd need something else. Something stronger. Something more....groovy. I ventured into the thick jungle and began my quest for shrooms. Right away, I saw something just as good, a bright red toad. I knew what to do. I snatched it up, raised it to my lips, and took a good, long lick. I hurried back to a small tent I'd set up after finding it in a box, lay down on my back, and put on a Pink Floyd CD I'd found in another box.

I was myself again after about 45 minutes, but I felt re energized and ready to begin the lonesome task of survival.

The Most Beautiful Thing I Have Ever Seen

There she was. The most beautiful ball, of any sport, that I have ever laid eyes on.

I had survived on the island for three days, and was growing lonely. I survived only for the sake of surviving, and because I had a dream that if I made it, I'd get laid on my first night back. Still, I didn't really know what I was living for. Before this book, I was relatively unsuccessful as a writer, [1] and I had nobody to go home to, no friends or family.

It was at my lowest point when I saw her. I was on my way back to camp for some beauty sleep, and there she was, laying in the sand. The most beautiful volleyball I had ever seen. Her body was perfect, it seemed as if she was all curves. She had the cutest tattoo of the word "Wilson" on her back, so I decided to call her Willetta. After about 15 minutes of just looking at her, I finally worked up the courage to talk to her.

"Hey, beautiful," I said in the most suave voice you ever heard. "What's something as pretty as you doing in a place like this?" She didn't move for a second, until a gust of wind blew her over, and I was shocked by what I saw. "OH MY GOD!!" I exclaimed. "What happened to your face???" Yes, the ball of my dreams had no face. I knew I'd feel bad just letting her go after trying to charm her like that, so I offered to make her a new face. She didn't protest.

I picked her up and carried her back to my shelter, and picked up a rock. "THIS IS FOR YOU, BABY!" I shouted in a high-pitched, almost girly voice. I took the rock and used a particularly sharp part of it to poke a small hole in my finger. "AAAAAAGGHHH!" I screamed in pain and anguish. I knew I had little time, and quickly used my own blood to make a cute smiley face on the volleyball. I tied up the gaping wound to make sure I didn't die of blood loss, and passed out from the pain. My finger hurt for hours, but it was worth it. I have never seen the Mona Lisa, honestly, but I don't know how much better could it be than that marvelous smiley-face on that beautiful volleyball.

An Established Life On The Island

We had been together twice, Willetta and I. She was very passionate, and I think now that I may have been in love. We lived a peaceful existence, eating fruit, fish, and wild pigs that we hunted for. I eventually learned to live without television, and entertained myself by watching seagulls fight over bits of fish I threw to them. The time flashed by in a haze of loving glances and toad-licking-induced hallucinations.

Okay, I don't know who took this picture, but they're a douche for not rescuing me!

I made tools to do many helpful things. That "GPS" device I threw out to sea a while ago eventually washed back onto shore, but this time I knew better than to waste such a valuable asset. I smashed it with a rock, and used its hard plastic edge as a knife. I think I may be able to use the screen to start a fire, but for now rubbing sticks together works just as well. Ah, it was a good life we had, Willetta and I, but something inside me told me it just wasn't enough.

Escaping The Island

I'd been on the island forty-two days, by my count. That's six weeks for the slow kids in the back. Willetta had been with me for thirty-nine of those days, and we had become close. I loved her, and she, I. We never had to say it, I could see it in the eyes I had drawn on her. Still, it felt like we could've had so much more than what we had on the island. For instance, television. I could only go without for so long! Seriously, I dreamed about television. About sitting down and absorbing its warm glow, from a game, an episode of 24 or House, even Oprah or Dr. Phil would be acceptable. I promised myself that if I ever did get off the island I'd never complain about there being nothing on TV again. It was then that I decided I had to escape.

A breif, decidedly out-of-focus glimpse of me dangling for dear life on my raft as the sailors pulled it out of the water. They said they thought it was "funny". I didn't think so...

I built a raft with a sail out of trees and driftwood, made a container to catch and hold rainwater, and made a special compartment for Willetta. I set off on the raft, excited and nervous to be on my way. I randomly chose a direction to go in, not having a map. How useful would it be, to have a map, or, better yet, some kind of...I dunno, global positioning system-type device?

"Wait,"I thought. "Global....Positioning......System. GPS. GPS! AAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!" I was more angry at myself than ever before. I ran around in circles, I cursed with the worse words than I thought I knew, and I ran to the first tree I could find. Over and over again, I smashed my head up against it, cursing loudly the entire time. "No," I said to myself, as I continued to bash my cranium against the tree. "This won't accomplish anything." I head-butted the tree once more for luck and brain damage, and got into the raft, now fully stocked with food and ready to go. "Ready, darling?" I called to Willetta, who remained silent as usual. And with her kind words of confidence, I set off.

I sailed for a few hours, when I saw a ship. I knew this was it. I jumped, waved, splashed, danced, beckoned, and flourished, until my arms would no longer move. I screamed, yelled, shouted, and hollered until my voicebox refused to work anymore. That was when the captain told me to shut up, or he'd throw me overboard. Yes, I'd done it, I'd escaped.

The Aftermath, As Chronicled By The Epilogue

Suddenly, I noticed something, in the wreckage of the raft the sailors had hauled on board their ship. Willetta. Where was she? And then I realized, in my anxiety and self-loathing, I had not filled the special compartment I had made especially for her. I pictured my darling sitting there, alone on the island, a tear coming out of the eye I had drawn on her. I had never felt such a hole in my being as now. Such a gaping, volleyball-shaped hole. I knew not what to do.

Then I looked at my raft. I saw the one box I had made a deal with myself not to open, to deliver it to it's rightful owner. I picked up the box, and threw it overboard. "Stupid box!" I yelled, and kicked my chair. Like it or not, I was going home.


The novel The Castaway is also available in paperback.
  1. Afterwards, too.

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