The First Day: Fear of the Unknown

I am so cold, so much in pain, and so hungry. Yet, this feeling brings me a sense of relief—for at least, I am still alive.

When the cruise ship capsized, I was forced to leap into the frigid sea. That bone-deep chill remains vivid in my memory. Later, I clung to a wooden plank, which bore me along for what felt like an eternity, until my limbs grew numb and I remembered nothing more.

Now, I want nothing more than to sleep. My eyelids are unbearably heavy. Even so, my churning stomach refuses me even this small comfort.

The lapping of the waves is like a lullaby, lulling me toward slumber. I want so desperately to give in. Yet in the end, I open my eyes.

As expected, I am completely submerged in seawater, tossed and rocked like a piece of driftwood. I do not know how much time has passed, only that it must have consumed the last of my strength, but at length I manage to pull myself from the icy water.

Though I moved no more than ten meters, at least now I lie upon dry sand. The sunlight warms the grains beneath me, and exhaustion drags me into sleep once more.

When I awaken again, it must be afternoon. The heat is oppressive. I have a premonition—if I do not move, I will be roasted alive.

Survival instinct rouses me to my feet, though every fiber of my being resists. I am so thirsty; my throat burns as though aflame, my lips are cracked. Hunger gnaws at me—I would give anything for a bowl of rice, no, for ten bowls…

Every inch of my skin, muscle, and bone aches. Not far away, I spot several tall coconut palms.

At last, I reach the trees and, by some stroke of luck, find a few fallen coconuts. A shard of stone becomes my tool to break them open. It takes what must be hours—though it feels like centuries—but finally, I savor the sweet nectar inside.

It is, without question, the most delicious thing I have ever tasted. The sugary juice moistens my cracked lips, trickles over my tongue, soothes my burning throat…

This must be what happiness feels like.

After finishing the fifth coconut, I am at last sated. Burping contentedly, I sit at the base of a tree and begin to think.

The setting sun spills gold over the sea—so beautiful, I realize. Yet I have no heart to admire it.

I begin to worry—what if no one comes looking for me? What if they search, but cannot find me? What if I am trapped here?

I truly am anxious, but I cannot help but dwell on these thoughts. The sun sets, and night falls more quickly than I expected—all while I have pondered only a handful of questions.

Now, fear creeps in. I do not know if there are wild beasts here. I do not know if there are unseen spirits. I do not know what unknown horrors might lurk in this place.

I am afraid, too afraid to shout, though I long to do so. I am afraid of the darkness, the darkness of this unfamiliar place. It feels as if a pair of eyes are watching me from within the blackness.

My back is icy cold, though I know it is slick with sweat. I am terrified that something might suddenly tap me on the shoulder.

My nerves are stretched taut, like rubber bands pulled to their breaking point—perhaps the next moment, the next second, they will snap.

Strange noises, like sinister enchantments, worm their way into my ears, gnawing at my courage. I stare desperately at the distant sea, hoping for a glimmer of light, even if it is only a passing ship or a single beam.

Yet I am also terrified that something dreadful will suddenly appear before me.

I dare not move. I am utterly spent. Every organ in my body protests my efforts, crying out for rest. But I ignore them—my mind is the only thing still alert, and I cannot stop it.

Every terrifying scene I have ever witnessed replays endlessly in my head. The more I think, the greater my fear.

Late into the night, the sea breeze chills me to the bone, and I feel as though I am about to freeze. Yet I dare not move, fearing that any sound might summon a predator.

Surrounded by the rustling of leaves, I shiver uncontrollably. Instinctively, I grope in my pocket—astonishingly, my cigarettes are still there, though they are crushed and misshapen.

My lighter, too, has survived. I try to light a cigarette and take a deep drag. My nerves relax, if only a little.

The cigarette is not dry—rather, it is still damp. I barely taste anything, but this moment reminds me that fire can ward off the cold.

Physical discomfort finally overcomes my fear. I force myself up to gather leaves from the ground.

At last, I accumulate enough twigs and foliage, though by now my clothes are soaked with cold sweat. When the fire finally catches, I huddle beside the trunk of a coconut tree, my heart steadied a little by the blaze.

Still, I do not dare look into the surrounding darkness. I am afraid that I will see something horrifying.

I fix my gaze on the leaping flames, and drowsiness begins to claim me.

Just as I am drifting into sleep, there is a sudden smack on my shoulder. I jerk upright in terror, letting out a scream that echoes into the night. Immediately, there follows the frantic flutter of wings, the crunch of twigs and leaves being trampled.

My heart cannot bear it; my breath comes in ragged gasps, and my adrenaline must be at an all-time high.

Steeling myself, I glance behind me, fists clenched tight. Fear cannot overpower my will to survive.

Silence. Darkness. Nothing.

I look down at the spot where I had been leaning against the tree.

A wry, self-mocking laugh escapes me, and my nerves ease somewhat. It was only a branch, lying there quietly—the likely casualty of a larger tree beside the coconut palm.

This fright has banished all trace of sleepiness. Though my heart still races, the terror fades a little.

Before long, a sudden pain lances through my stomach, as if a drill is boring through me. My intestines gurgle with trapped air.

I find a hollow near the fire and relieve myself there.

Yet this is only the beginning of my misery. In just a few dozen minutes, I am stricken five times in succession. Each bout leaves me weaker, until I am sprawled helpless on the ground.

A wave of weakness overtakes me—I am so exhausted, I can barely move a finger. Silently, I pray that it will not happen again. If it does, I fear that, having survived disaster, I will yet meet my end.

Perhaps I ate too many coconuts, I think.

Tomorrow, my first task must be to find fresh water. Otherwise, how will I last until rescue comes?

This day has been unbearably long. Only when dawn bleaches the sky do I finally fall asleep.