(Prompt this week: you are stranded on a deserted island with only a bottle, a pen, and a piece of paper)
John Jacobsen
200 Palm Tree Lane
Some Deserted Island, The Ocean
To whom it may concern,
I have spent the better part of a year trying to figure out
exactly what to put here. At first I thought that putting everything I could
remember about my location would be beneficial, but seeing as I was asleep
during the flight that went down I realized I had nothing to add. I then
thought that I would put a note to whomever might find this, asking them to
care for my loved ones and contact my family, but that’s a gamble at best. I
suppose you can consider this a cry for help, and if I knew what date it was I’d
put this on the letter so that some scientist somewhere could use some estimate
of the ocean currents to deduce the range that my little home lies from the
nearest land mass, but ultimately I’m writing this under the guise of a single
realization.
I’m never getting off this island.
They say hope springs eternal, and that the last thing you
should lose is faith. I can’t say they’re wrong, and maybe I have hit rock
bottom. All I know is that I am stuck here, and you are… wherever you are, and
that we will probably never meet. And to be honest, I don’t see a lot of
difference. Here I am driven mad by routine, forced into action by the basic
right to live, dealing with conditions that I would prefer never to have seen
in the first place. There, you likely are the same – driven to action by a need
for shelter and food, finding solace only in the few spare moments the
overlords of circumstance see fit to allow you to pursue the things that truly
hold meaning for you. Here I am surrounded by wildlife unable to comprehend my
motives or, sometimes, my very existence. There, you are surrounded by the
self-centered, possibly aware of your motives but more likely resistant to
them, your existence seen as a nuisance at best.
I don’t know where I am, but over the past year I’ve slowly
come to the realization that I honestly don’t care. Same shit, different day.
At least this time I get to spend my leisure moments relaxing on a beach.
Send help if you can. If not, no big loss.
John Jacobsen.
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