Stranded

 

Following the daily routine, I scratch another mark into the coconut tree. Sixty marks. Sixty days on this god forsaken deserted island.

Breakfast consists of the last of yesterday’s fish, washed down with coconut milk.

I hate fish!

After breakfast, I walk up the hill to scan the ocean, hoping to spot a ship’s sails on the horizon.

Nothing.

Back at the beach, I scratch another note and place it in a bottle – I’m still waiting for the reply to my last one.

It reads: “12” Pepperoni with peppers, large fries and a diet coke. Large tip for prompt delivery.”

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