I was a castaway. I had made this unknown island my home for what I calculated as the past 12 years. Much like Robinson Crusoe I became one to dwell in a cave, and my own private fortress. Few items from that shipwreck 12 years ago lasted. Long ago I ran out of ammunition for my guns, the radio was broken, and I had no battery power. I learned the art of making an excellent bow using fibers and materials from the local plant life. Like an uncivilized “savage” from a tribe I spent my morning fishing, bow hunting for food, and dragging water from a tiny runoff waterfall. It was much like visiting the grocery for me. I lived off the wild game, fish, and coconut trees. I learned to make fire with two rocks and some dry brush. Daily I waited for low tide and wrote “HELP S.O.S.” on the beachfront near my island home.

In my 12 years, I had never seen one ship, which was disheartening as it meant I was stranded on a very remote island. This place was obviously no landmark used by sailors. It wasn’t until today that I truly felt I had lost my sanity.

I performed my daily routine, had some fish, coconuts, and their juice. I decided to climb a cliff I had named Lookout Point, which I had climbed many times before, but not without injuries. I made my rope with strong bamboo line, and fastened it to a sturdy tree. I began my ascent, carefully maneuvering up, as I scaled the cliff. The cliff was not excessive, maybe fifty feet. I reached the top in about fifteen minutes.

I sat down to rest my muscles and ease the pain from bouncing on sharp rocks along the way. Looking out I did my scouting for ships, planes, helicopters, or human life of any kind. I sat there for two, maybe three hours, and saw nothing. I decided that it was a waste of time to keep looking. My giant beach sign was there, and I continued my hope that some aircraft would see it and send rescue. I began my typical scal down the cliff, which was always quite fast, but painful. At around twenty feet, my bamboo line broke and I fell to the ground.

I landed on forest brush, but not without a broken leg. My left leg was most definitely broken. I examined it while in extreme pain and the simple fracture was enough to make me immobile. The bone was poking at my flesh, but luckily it was not portruding out. In great pain I looked for anything made of strong fiber that I could wrap around my leg and straighten the bone. I tied some fibers around my leg until it felt like my leg was straightened. I was screaming in agonizing pain, but what choice did I have. I laid there for at least an hour, mentally adapting to this horrible injury.

I needed to make it back to my cave fortress and rest my head on the crude bed I had carefully constructed. Lookou Point was about half a mile from my safety fortress. I leaned against a tree to prop myself up on my right leg. Oh the pain was excruciating. I was unable to walk. I could not do it. Limping did not help. I had to sit back down, wondering the depth of my internal injuries.

As the sun went down, and the moon rose, I sat there, staring blank at a forest teeming with aggressive boar. I began to feel very uneasy and passed out. When I came to, the sun was high in the sky. I thought I had fallen asleep for the night. But with my awakening I was far more dehydrated than normal. I began thinking I had been out for days as I was dying of thirst. The fresh tiny, waterfall was between Lookout Point and my home. I managed to once again prop myself up, and this time I limped, ignoring the pain, ignoring the swelling, ignoring the horror of survival. I made it a good hundred feet before I fell down.

Again I couldn’t bear the pain to get up. What was I to do? I panicked more than I had ever before since my arrival on the island. Once again I passed out.

When I awoke again, I heard voices. I thought I was hallucinating, but I yelled “Help, help!” non-stop until a bearded man found me. He asked, and I explained the story. He carried me back to the beachfront of my island home. I asked him if he had a ship or a plane out on the water. He replied “No, I do not.”

I asked him “How did you get here then?”

His reply was “I was sent.”

He was sent, what did that mean?

“I was sent to end your suffering.”

“Are you an angel from God” I asked.

“Yes, now sit back, you are going home.”

With that, a knife was plunged into my heart with a fierceness that I cannot remember. For I now walk the island as a lost spirit, writing my tale. My angel had disappeared, but now I was alone as a ghost in-between heaven and hell. Daily, I stare off Lookout Point and see ships and planes. Why? Why did this happen and why was my rescue to come after I had crossed over to the spirit world? The bearded angel appeared once again to me on a sunny day. He said, “You have completed your trials and have not lost faith.”

With that, the skies opened and with a flash I was at my heavenly home. I watched my story tale fall from the sky and land right on the beach where all those years I wrote “HELP!”

God had finally taken me home, and with great reward for my sufferings.