Post by RHYS SEBASTIAN on Jul 9, 2010 21:38:18 GMT -5
Salt and grit. That was his first sensation as he regained consciousness. Before he could even begin to think, he puked up nearly a quart of nasty saltwater. Then he opened his eyes. The light was bright, his head ached, and his mouth and throat felt dry as cotton. All he could see was the cloudless blue sky above him. Where was he? He tried to think back, to remember what he had been doing prior to this moment... He'd been on a flight to Japan to attend a good friend's wedding when they'd encountered some turbulence. Things had gotten pretty bumpy, and he'd slammed his head against something hard... He couldn't recall anything after that.
Rhys sat up slowly and frowned. He was on a beach somewhere. There weren't any people or buildings in sight. So the plane had crashed, and he'd washed up on the shore of some island? How far out in the ocean had it crashed? Had anyone else survived?
He stood up and brushed himself off as best he could. His dark curls were frizzy and matted. He'd likely be finding sand in it for days. His clothes, a black t-shirt, leather jacket, and dark pants, had dried stiff and stuck to him. The leather jacket was ruined and beginning to tighten as it shrunk, so he took it off and draped it over his head to shield himself from the relentless sun. He'd lost his shoes, but he still had his socks. He took them off, shook the sand off them, and put them in his pants pocket, where he found a soggy pack of cigarettes and his silver lighter. He stared at them, amazed that they had stayed in his pocket the whole time, before opening the pack and taking out one of the cigarettes. For a moment, he entertained the idea of lighting it, but the thing was limp and soggy. He tossed the cigs and put the lighter back in his pocket. He had nothing else to his name.
Looking around, he wondered where on earth he could have washed up. If it were Japan, he would have seen some sign of intelligent life by now, wouldn't he? Slowly, it dawned on him that he may have landed himself on a deserted island.
"Bloody hell."
He wished had a compass or something to gauge his direction. Even the sun was directly overhead, which was no help at all. Well, he didn't really want to go towards the wooded area just yet; it was much more likely he would get lost in there than he would out here on the beach. So he started walking along one side of the beach. In the distance, he could see that it got more rocky and less sandy up ahead, more like the beaches he'd grown up around in England. He wondered again where on earth this place could be. Had to be somewhere between Australia and Japan, but where? Well, he probably wasn't going to find out anytime soon. Best concentrate on finding people or shelter or something.
The frazzled castaway sighed heavily. This was going to be a long day.
[Exit]
Rhys sat up slowly and frowned. He was on a beach somewhere. There weren't any people or buildings in sight. So the plane had crashed, and he'd washed up on the shore of some island? How far out in the ocean had it crashed? Had anyone else survived?
He stood up and brushed himself off as best he could. His dark curls were frizzy and matted. He'd likely be finding sand in it for days. His clothes, a black t-shirt, leather jacket, and dark pants, had dried stiff and stuck to him. The leather jacket was ruined and beginning to tighten as it shrunk, so he took it off and draped it over his head to shield himself from the relentless sun. He'd lost his shoes, but he still had his socks. He took them off, shook the sand off them, and put them in his pants pocket, where he found a soggy pack of cigarettes and his silver lighter. He stared at them, amazed that they had stayed in his pocket the whole time, before opening the pack and taking out one of the cigarettes. For a moment, he entertained the idea of lighting it, but the thing was limp and soggy. He tossed the cigs and put the lighter back in his pocket. He had nothing else to his name.
Looking around, he wondered where on earth he could have washed up. If it were Japan, he would have seen some sign of intelligent life by now, wouldn't he? Slowly, it dawned on him that he may have landed himself on a deserted island.
"Bloody hell."
He wished had a compass or something to gauge his direction. Even the sun was directly overhead, which was no help at all. Well, he didn't really want to go towards the wooded area just yet; it was much more likely he would get lost in there than he would out here on the beach. So he started walking along one side of the beach. In the distance, he could see that it got more rocky and less sandy up ahead, more like the beaches he'd grown up around in England. He wondered again where on earth this place could be. Had to be somewhere between Australia and Japan, but where? Well, he probably wasn't going to find out anytime soon. Best concentrate on finding people or shelter or something.
The frazzled castaway sighed heavily. This was going to be a long day.
[Exit]
