“I’ve eaten every last one on this island. If I EVER see another, it won’t be too soon!” Rob Caruso lamented.
His boat had run aground on the south end of this island. If it had been a storm that wreaked havoc upon him and his dinghy, he’d be more OK with it. But taking that dare in his drunken stupor was… well, it was stupid. Set adrift with no cell phone, no compass, no shoes (?), and a half empty bottle of Jack. Oh, he owed those guys big time! It he would ever get out of here!
It was on this thirty-seventh day that Rob felt as if he’s never see civilization again. Even if one of the local natives came along to help him along, he’d be better off. But, here it was, another Friday had passed and he was alone.
“Are those assholes even looking for me?” Caruso wondered as he chewed on what was left of his right sock.
It was starting to get to him, all this isolation. Mirages popped up all over the place, but no oasis awaited Rob. He freaked out when that battered volleyball washed up on shore and tried to engage him in conversation. He ended up kicking him in the face, sending him floating off with the current.
Caruso was a desperate man and his only hope rested in this clear glass bottle. The amber liquid had long since been consumed, so it served him no other purpose. He scribbled a note on a torn piece of cloth from his shirt. He had cut his foot on the coral off-shore so Rob Caruso used his blood to mark the swatch.
I am stranded on an island in the middle of nowhere. There is a big tree in the center of it and I can faintly make out a land mass way off in the distance to my right. I’m out of sustenance; no more Jack and down to my boxer briefs. I can’t go on like this. Please, bring me another bottle and some ice, otherwise this party will remain a dud!
He dipped his crew sock into the water sucking on its nectar, and waited.