I wouldn't call myself an impatient person but after being stranded on this island for the last two weeks, you'd think a plane would have seen my big S.O.S. drawn in the sand.  That's the one I redraw every morning after the tide washes it away at night.

I figured since I was brought here on a plane that another one would eventually fly by.

I can't even relax.  I keep thinking about the last two weeks and it plays out in my head - over and over and over...

We were on our way to Hamilton Harbour.  There were 4 other passengers.  The engine went out.  We all grabbed parachutes.  The plane caught fire.  The explosion.  We all swam to this island with the help of airplane debris.

Now I'm the only one left.

The American was the first to go.  The other 3, including me, seemed to "get off to a bad start" with him.  We fixed drawing straws so he would lose.  We did well for about three days after that but soon we started getting hungry again.

I decided to look for other forms of food.  I guess there really is a reason why they're called Desert Islands.  I always thought it was deserted.  Still, not much to be found.  A few bruised, I think, oranges.  But plenty of flies.

It was days before I came back to one last survivor - eating the second last survivor.  The shock of seeing another body up on the spit (we all made a BBQ when we "prepared" the American) threw me into a frenzy.  There really is no equal opportunity on this island.  Still, I wonder how she killed him in the first place.

In hindsight maybe I should have wrote the message in the sand before we resorted to eating each other, but she left me no choice.  It was either kill or share.  Now I can't even make any ice to freeze any of the left over body parts.

So here I am.  Alone.  Waiting for help.  Actually, just waiting.

I'll eventually starve, I suppose....

Wait a second.  What is that?  Is that a.... can't be.  It is.  It's a tornado!

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