He came to on a desolate beach. Splintered wood and debris surrounded him, and his head pounded with every beat of his heart. He rolled over and vomited sea water as a culmination of his ordeal.
Yes, he was alive, but for how much longer.
He rolled away from the lapping waves and dragged himself to his feet. Laying out exposed to the elements would most assuredly lead to his demise, and he hadn’t survived the shipwreck to just die on the desolate beach.
There was nothing left to salvage from the wreck.
He walked slowly into the jungle and was grateful for the shade, but the heat was still oppressive. He walked for a few minutes before he glanced down at the ground by his feet. The brush was thick on either side, but the path he walked was well worn and often traveled. He was elated at the thought of coming upon people.
With people he might have a chance for rescue.
His feet carried him down the path. His heart was singing along with the tropical birds in the trees. He wasn’t alone–he had hope.
The birds went silent.
Goose bumps rose on his arms and a cold sweat dripped down his spine. His head told him to run, but his feet kept moving forward. He could not miss this chance, he clung to his hope. He had nothing left to cling to.
He heard a whistling sound and there was a sharp pain on the side of his neck.
His vision spun and he collapsed to the ground. In his disoriented state he noticed the blurry shapes of a line of figures approaching from the jungle. He heard shouting and excitement before his world went dark.
That night a feast was had thanking the gods for allowing the storm to bring them such a worthy visitor. It had been years since they could enjoy a meal so rare and filling.
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