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Desert Island Story

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English Desert Island Story "... breaking news! A ship transporting goods off the coast of Fiji has been reported missing. The boat carrying approximately 5,000 passengers was said to have spontaneously burst into flames in the early hours of the morning, then disappeared before any form of help could arrive. Teams of police and members of the Australian coastguard have spent the last eight hours desperately searching for any sign of life. Sadly no passengers have yet to be found alive." He lay there amongst the rotting corpses, limp and lifeless on the god-forsaken spit of land the once brutal waves had washed him upon. His froth corrupted lungs gasping for breath, blood oozing from his mangled legs. His body was battered and bruised. With each mouthful of air his body eagerly clung on to any hope of life left inside his helpless soul. Spluttering and choking, he gingerly opened his eyes, his mind daring himself to challenge himself as to what horrors he had stumbled across. The sun blinding his vision, he pathetically crawled up the sand, fingernails gripping each of grain of the powder; panting and sweating he heaved himself over onto his back. ...read more.


To play with his son, kiss his wife and stroll down his busy high street to his local pub - just like he had done two weeks previously. "...the search still continues for any survivors from the cargo ship that was reported missing a week ago. Twelve men have been found and recovered form the wreckage but sadly no more have been found alive. As families grieve for their losses, police are still searching desperately..." A deep sinking feeling churned in his stomach. He's not eaten for a little over a week now and his body was showing the signs of starvation. He had always had a hint of mysteriousness about him, but most striking were his Mediterranean looks. Olive skin, which always glowed, short brown hair, and the dreamiest green eyes that almost every girl who saw them had fallen for. Yet now he was stick thin, elbows like razors. His skin still tanned yet no longer glowed and his eyes, the green turned to grey seemed to sink into his face. He was a skeleton of his original self. That day was a cloudless, bright evening in early autumn. Back in England the leaves would be changing colour and gently litter the pavement as each one fell gracefully from the trees. ...read more.


He opened the kitchen door and his typical English breakfast was laid out for him. It was as if a magnetic force was drawing him towards the food. "Morning Adam, breakfast is ready." His wife happily said when she greeted her husband. Not a grain of sand lay under his feet. His leg was healed and he was home. As he began to tuck into his breakfast a sound that closely resembled a fog horn came racing down the stairs and into the immaculate marble kitchen. "Morning Dad!" this little creature cried, covered head to toe in toothpaste. Adam looked down to find his six year old son covered in the minty fresh substance. Adam had forgotten how chaotic mornings could be. He lay there silently amongst the graves of the men he'd buried some days earlier. His leg, now black with infection, festered with maggots and disease. But he could feel no pain. Instead he felt a lightness of spirit, a resignation of what was to be and a welcoming sense of peace. "...sadly another body was uncovered today identified as Adam Crosby. He was one of the many passengers headed to Australia on the cargo ship that sank almost three weeks ago. His body was discovered on an island not far from Fiji by police scouting the area. Still no more survivors have been found..." By Sarah Mcentee 10E ...read more.

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