The morning after


    Eventually the rains lessened and the sky brightened. The wind and the torrential freezing rain that had battered me through the night dissipated. I was huddled tightly against a small palm tree.


    I saw the world around me for the first time. The ground around me was a 30-pace-wide section of grasses and small volcanic rock, the soil black mixed with dark reds and browns. In one direction was the rocky cliff I had clawed my way up leading down to the water, and in the other was the start of the forest. It was dark and heavily overgrown.


    *Note: My pace is around 4 feet; it is measured from the toe at rest to the next time your toe hits the ground on the same foot.


    I sat there shaking with the cold despite it being a subtropical climate. The storm had plunged the temperature down. Now the hail had melted and temperatures were rising, but the constant rain was still sapping my body heat.


    My throat burned, so I drank some of the ice-cold water off the palm leaves above my head. I also used it to wash my wounds before staggering to the cliff face to look into the depths. It confirmed what I already knew: my home was gone. I was too cold and tired to cry.


    I couldn''t escape the thought that this was the end. The worst story ever written. I would get my mark on history, but it would not be a mark to be proud of. My obituary would read, Youngest person to ever attempt to circumnavigate the world and go missing.


    Deep inside, a survival instinct was screaming. “Get up; you can’t give up now.” It was a familiar voice, my mom’s. “If you stay any longer, you will freeze to death.” I looked around for her. But she was obviously not here.


    I lumbered to my feet.


    I took my knife out of my pocket and turned to the forest edge. If there weren''t a shelter, I would have to make one. I started by indiscriminately cutting palm fronds and piling them up. The fronds are as long as my forearm and half as wide. Then I dragged together whatever long, straight wood I could find and threw it in a pile. I could feel myself weakening from exposure…


    I found a knocked-down tree as big around as my thigh and started laying the sticks on top, making a lean-to. The more sticks, the better the structure. I added half of what I had, and then I added the leaves, starting from the bottom and working my way up. It looked like shingles. I did 2 layers thick of this before laying the second half of the sticks on top. It wasn''t perfect, but looking inside, it was dry.


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    As I crawled inside, I realized that the ground was wet and the rain was flowing down the roof and then flowing back through the shelter anyway. Using the last of my strength, I dug a small trench around me and let the water flow. There is something zen and comforting about routing water. I lay down on damp leaves and shivered in the cold.


    A thought occurred to me: my clothes are making me colder. I stripped them off, and the air felt colder, but I knew this was just the water evaporating. Once it was gone, I would heat up. I lay there on the damp leaves and checked my body over. I had dozens of small cuts on my fingers and a lot of bruises. I was pretty sure none of it would be a death sentence.


    I looked out of my shelter and up at the sky; it was alive with oranges and pinks as the sun was setting on the horizon. The stars were just starting to peak out. My fear was that as night set, the temperature would go back down and my already cold, achy body wouldn''t be able to survive.


    I dug in my pockets hoping to find a match, a lighter, or anything. But why would I have carried one on my person? On a sailboat, fire is a bad idea. I had my knife, a flashlight, and a life jacket.


    I looked around; everything was wet. There was no way to make a fire bow; everything would be soaked. The idea of trying to do a friction fire in any form is out of the question. I searched around for any flint-like rock, but everything was volcanic. I struck the back of the knife against a fist-sized hunk. Brilliant hot sparks flew off the knife. I now know the volcanic rock is hard enough to scrape the surface of the metal, causing the microfillings to heat up as they are removed and catch fire as they oxidize.


    I laughed a painfully bruised ribs laugh. I used my knife on the log above my head and gathered the dryest fibers. I peeled bark off and broke everything down into as small of pieces as possible. The resulting tinder was light and fluffy; I protected it like a grasshopper safe in my hands.


    I laid it on the driest part of the shelter floor and struck my knife against the stone. showering the tinder in red-orange sparks. Time on the island is meaningless, but this period of time was grueling, but eventually I got it. A small ember was burning in the fluff I had made. I blew on it gently and promptly blew the ember out.


    I swore loudly and thrashed around before getting myself under control again and attempting one more time; the sound of rain never ending as I struck the rock against the knife, I thought about a world with warm beds and hot food. The sky was now dark. The only light from the tiny sparks…


    After another eternity, I was able to get it to light again. This time I was patient and blew on it slowly. The ember burned and then caught a thin flicker of plasma rising out of the tinder. the most beautiful sight of my life. I tore pieces of my shelter off and added them to the growing baby fire.


    so young but already saving my life. I promised the flame to be eternally devoted to its protector as I soaked up as much heat as I could on my naked skin.


    Today was a good day.