The plan was simple. Risk my life to climb the nearly snow-capped mountain. What could go wrong? Sure, there could be a million wild animals laying in ambush to rip me to shreds, and there was a possibility that I could tumble off the mountain while climbing, but honestly, I could care less. I’m not one to give up on a mission. Never have been, never will be. So, with the little materials on hand, I set out on my journey.

Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. An old marching song was trapped in my head as I “marched” (it was more of a slow, droopy stumble) toward the lofty peak. As I entered the forest of palm trees that surrounded the mountain, I was very alert for any rattlesnakes that I might step on.

For a moment my interest in the mountain faded, but I figured that I could find the animal later, and I trudged on. Reaching the bottom of the peak, I realized that I had underestimated just how hard this was going to be. The mountain was a lot steeper than I had thought, but I had to press on. I put my foot on the first stone, and lifted myself up until I could grab another boulder that was just small enough to hold on to.

Using as much upper body strength as I could, I pulled myself up to a spot that was level enough for me to walk. Now my plan was simple: walk up the mountain, climb at times, and keep on walking. At the halfway point, I spotted a little cave that had been cut out of the rocks. This intrigued me, but when I came closer, I immediately turned and left after I heard a rattle.

Climbing became harder as I got to the top. I couldn’t breathe, partially because of exhaustion and partially because of the altitude. And then… I was there! I had made it! I gazed down upon the island, admiring the beauty. But I learned that there isn’t a ton to do on the top of a mountain except just look down. Before I knew it, I was pretty bored, and I decided to call it a day and head back. I also learned that climbing down a mountain can be just as hard, if not harder, than climbing up!

I figured that out the hard way. I stumbled a few times, small stumbles at first, but each one growing as I got more tired. Eventually, I wasn’t even climbing down anymore. I was rolling!

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!!!!!” I screamed as I was catapulted off of boulders, stabbed in the back with tiny, sharp rocks, and ultimately having the worst time of my life. Once I hit the bottom, I  just lay there, unconscious.

Day passed. The sun had fallen below the horizon, and the moon climbed up to take its place. That is when I woke.

Other than the brain-splitting headache that I had, and the cuts, scrapes, and bruises, I was fine. I started to wonder whether it was really worth it to climb that mountain.

The next day I wanted to see what lay around the island. I wandered first around the perimeter, which was, as you would expect, covered in sand. I’m gonna be honest, other than the driftwood, sand, and water, there wasn’t much to look at. Until I went into the mainland.

I walked past a couple palm trees, and peered around the edge of a huge boulder. I thought a had seen something, but I wasn’t sure what. I crouched low, and crawled to a huge pile of wood, metal, and ash.

“What is this?” I whispered to myself.

As I turned over a couple pieces of charred wood, it finally struck me. This was a ship! It wasn’t the ship I had sailed on, for mine was much larger. This seemed more like a fisherman’s boat than a ship, but it was still something. And if it was here. That means there might be a survivor on the island somewhere! I crept around to the side of the boat, and picked up a piece of dusty paper with barely legible words written on it.

“FISHERMAN’S LOG – OCTOBER 2, 2016

This is my first bout with my new boat. I am going off to sea with it. The waves seem rough, but this boat was advertised to be able to stand waves like these, so I am not worried. At the end of my voyage, I will write again.”

I frown leaped across my face. This was from 2016, meaning that it was 7 years old! I continued reading, however, to see what was next.

“FISHERMAN’S LOG – DATE UNKNOWN.

My journey on this island has come to an end. After a massive shipwreck, a plane has come to my rescue. In the case of another shipwreck on this island. I am leaving my flare gun here, waiting to be found by the next survivor.”

A flare gun! That’s what I needed! I scanned the area, and sure enough! It was right there, next to a piece of burnt tarp. I grabbed it and stuffed it into my pocket.

Although I had expected the rescue to come soon, it did not. I was left waiting. An hour passed, and nothing happened. A day. Nothing.

A week. Not a single plane or ship. Not even a bird. A month passed. I was beginning to wonder how long the fisherman had been here before his rescue. Two months. Nothing. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. (By the way, I was keeping track of how long I had been trapped on the island because of a tree. I had put a slit in the tree’s bark each day, and by this point, I had nearly chopped the tree down with how many slits there were!) Eight through ten months. Nothing.

I had lost track of time and was beginning to think that there was no hope of survival.

Eleven months. I was getting fed up. All the while I had kept the flare gun close, scanning the sky, ready to pull the trigger at the first sight of a plane or ship. Even in the night I was ready. Because of this, I was lacking sleep.

On the 29th day of the 12th month, I realized that I had been cooped up here for a whole year! I was still wishing for a plane, but I thought it would never happen, so I began focusing on other things. I had built a nice log cabin out of palm trees, and I had  an irrigation system that supplied me with running water. My breakfast, lunch, and occasional dinner was coconut.

I was living the simplest life you could ever imagine. But then, one day, I heard a sound that I will never forget.

Rooaaaaar! It was the sound of a boat’s engine! I fumbled for the flare gun, and once I had a grip, I immediately pulled the trigger, sending a red hot fireball into the air.

The rest of the story involves hopping on board with “Captain Chris”, the person who happened to be driving his boat through the ocean, with no reason in mind at all. Turns out God did care about me after all, even though it didn’t seem like it.

So yeah. That’s my story. As I sit here writing this, I am reminded that even though we might be in huge trouble (a pickle, as British people would say it), God is always willing to help us. Bye!