The twigs underfoot made painful landings as I made my way sprinting out of the jungle. The burning sand was not much of an improvement when I reached the beach. The raggedy bag, which I had made out of my jacket, started to leak out my precious fruit so I scurried back and plucked them back in before continuing towards the ocean. The salt water burned in the wounds that the sharp twigs had created. I secured the bag around my neck and jumped in. Behind me the coconut crabs had made it out of the jungle and were half way down the small beach. Swimming as hard as possible, I reached my little island with my heart pounding in my ears and a cup of salt water in my lungs.

The little bit of land that I call mine is not more than an acre in size. There are three stubby coconut trees that are not big enough to produce fruit yet in the center where I have made my home. The boat that had got me here had gotten so many holes that it sank a few feet before reaching this little strip of land so I had dragged it up and used it as a tarp that I slept under. I use the paddles for hitting the few crabs that are so crazed by hunger that they dare make the trip from the big island to my little one. I have discovered they can't swim very well and the waves usually prevent the smaller ones from getting close but some are strong enough to resist the waves. These ones' shells usually end up serving as my plates or containers if I didn't smash them too much when they were slammed with the paddle repeatedly.

Because my island only has three unproductive trees, I have to go get food every few days from the big neighboring island. There's plenty of fruit hanging from the trees there but it's also infested with giant, man-eating crabs. I scan the horizon, hand over eyes, searching for any collectables. I found something bobbing very near so I waded out and gripped the floating piece of plastic. Returning to the burning, sandy beach I put the plastic scrap into my pile of found things next to my little home. My collection was getting quite large with forgotten things that were floating around my island- the plastic pile actually was quite useful since some were the bottom of milk cartons and plastic bags that could be used for carrying items. It looks like I am a green, recycling maniac when really I am just coping with the scraps that float my way. I would definitely prefer some good ol' plywood and some tools to make a formal roof but the sea hasn't offered me those so far.

I took cover under my boat canopy and gnawed on some dry coconut meat. Dusk was approaching and the urge to doze was hard to resist even if the dreams that followed were never happy and would often make me wake up in the pitch dark covered with sweat and with tears dripping off my cheeks. Instead of surrendering to sleep just yet I grabbed Paige out from her location where the boat draped over one of palm trees. My coconut-headed scupture with seaweed hair and an utterly terrifying face I drew on with a sharp stone, looked up at me with dead eyes. I made her three years ago when I first came to my island so the coconut is very shriveled and mushy and the seaweed is stringy and crisp. I put her in front of the opening so I couldn't see out at the terrible habitat of mine and pulled a leaf and grass pile over me. I tried not to think of the scorpions and spiders that could be in that vegetation I had just put over me. After a few minutes I brushed it off because my skin begin to tingle from the legs of some of those imaginary creatures. Anyway the night air was plenty warm.

It had taken a while for me to get used to this place, the climate, and the loneliness. My appearance has definitely not benefited from living here. My leg still bears the scar from my first encounter with a coconut crab and my hair is too long and greasy for my liking. I don't know if I will ever be found, but if I do I will be so grateful for electricity and indoor plumbing! As for now, this is my home that I share with three palm trees and an occasional toucan.