June 5th, 1982
I write the following pages with the unsteady hand of a man drowning in confusion. The Fates have placed he in a bizarre land for which there is no escape… will I ever see you, my family, again?
I’m getting ahead of myself. I should explain who I am, perhaps repeating that information will help me keep my sanity. My name is Gerald; I am the captain of the Wanderer, a long-distance cargo vessel built for moving… special good in between Europe and America. At least I was, a terrible storm threw me off course and ran me aground somewhere in the sea, which resulted in my catapulting over the railing and into the freezing sea. After a time, it must have been days at the least, I woke on the shore of a lush island with staggering cliffs. Noting that everything but my bag, the emergency lighter attached to my waist, and this journal had been taken by the sea, I was first filled with despair. However, that agony quickly turned to determination. I am going to survive this, I swear it. Lucy, I will see you again.
My survival instincts took over the prioritization of what needed to be done. After all, there are only three things that a man needs to live, right? Water wouldn’t be a problem, as it seems that fresh, flowing water is commonplace on the island. So that leaves food and shelter, the former being the most important at the moment. After all, being adrift for days tends to leave you famished, no?
It was… horrible, Lucy. I am ashamed to admit to the lengths that I had to go through to obtain food. All of the curious trees were bare, and no bushes were around to pick fruit from. After searching for what I estimated to be an hour I saw what looked like a pig in the distance. As I approached, however, its true form was revealed to me. While it did have the correct coloration and general look of a pig, the dark pink skin was the same all over the creature, with no blemish or crease. It’s as if the creature was painted by the cruel gods of this island. However, I wasn’t able to be picky, as I was starving. Of course, I had no weapons or tools to neatly kill the creature with, so I was forced to… God help me… beat the beast to death with my bare fists. It took a long time, with each strike of my fist drawing blood and sounds of crunching bone. It was so strange, my dear, the beast didn’t try to fight back. It only looked at me with a pathetic, detached look in its eyes until it fell dead.
Tearing it apart, I was able to find a few decent pieces of meat. A few bits went in my bag, and I devoured the rest raw. I’m only a few days away from delightful meals with my ill-fated crew and I’m already feasting like the beast that this meat came from. What will the future hold for me?
Washing myself in a nearby stream and drinking to quench my thirst, I noticed that the sun was moving quickly across the sky. Knowing that night is coming, and the unknown horrors that I expected it to bring, shelter moved to priority one.
Searching around, I figured that I had two options: I could hole up in one of the natural cave formations, or I could attempt to build something rudimentary on the top of one of the many hills. Figuring that the first would be the fastest and easiest, as I was still exhausted, I approached one of the dark caves. However, I froze in the spot after getting close, as a terrible sound was coming out of the darkness. A walking, shuffling sound, which could be indicative of another human on the island!
“Hello! Is anyone there?” I shouted.
The sound that returned was strange, terrifying, and damned familiar at the same time. Do you remember those trashy monster flicks that we always watch? It sounded like the roar of a creature from those films, a primal urge to kill. Needless to say, I ran as quickly as I could.
Thus, the second choice became the only one. First, however, I would need materials. I searched well into the night, looking for any kind of stick that could make a quick wall. However, the fields were strangely barren of materials of any kind. Smashing my fist into a tree in an act of frustration, I met with a shock. I swear upon my mother’s grave, Lucy, the tree cracked, as a thick plane of glass might. Realizing the implication of this, I hammered on the spot again and again, watching the cracks grow larger and larger. Eventually the entire piece slid away, leaving a hole about two feet tall in the tree. I say “hole” because, despite the base being detached, the tree stayed in the air! I was convinced that I had gone insane on the sea, and this was just delusions of my fevered mind. I’m still not sure that I haven’t.
At any rate, I slowly dismantled the tree into pieces, throwing them behind me. At the end of my barrage I had four blocks, about four inches in area. Trying to figure out how solid the pieces were, I gave a swift kick to one of them. Strangely enough, that gave me four different blocks, about the same size as the original, as well as a pain in my foot. It might just be the exhaustion, but this barely surprised me. Perhaps I’m just becoming jaded to the strange magic of the island. Kicking the rest of the blocks, I stacked them in a couple piles of four while I obtained more wood from nearby trees. In all, I ended up with forty blocks or so.
Figuring that they were enough to create a decent shelter, I dragged the lot of them to the top of a hill. Creating the building was surprisingly easy, as the blocks seem to be coated with a sticky residue that is strong enough to adhere to other blocks without a support underneath. It was quickly approaching night by the time I finished building my wooden prison. Thus, I decided to write down today’s bizarre occurrences by the light of my emergency lighter. I must extinguish it soon, however, to conserve the limited supply of oil. Tomorrow I’ll have to figure out a better way to light my way.
But, for now, I must sleep. Goodnight, dear Lucy. I hope you realize that I’m missing before too long.