Nigel Journal Entry 1

Day 2

Few people can claim they’ve survived a plane crash, but I guess there are more of us than those who claim to have died in a plane crash. Personally, I would have much rather stayed in the air, but that’s just me. I don’t think the universe really cares one way or the other.

The crash was nearly a week ago now and much has happened since then, but I’ll get to that. I feel like I should introduce myself. The name’s Chuck. No, Nigel! Why don’t these stupid pencils have erasers? Call me Nigel, not Chuck. Nigel.

I’m an out-of-work lumberjack from Melbourne. That’s in Australia for all you blokes with backwards flushing toilets. Before you ask, not that I could hear if you did, the answer is yes. My dad was a Chuck. His dad’s name was Chuck. His dad’s name was, well, you get the picture. I come from a long line of Chucks. All lumberjacks.

Somewhere along the way, someone thought it would be funny to make a jingle about our family. Let me tell you, we could chuck a lot of wood. Also, kids are jerks.

Where was I? Nigel… Lumberjack... Aussie… Well, I’m a 28-year-old unmarried Aquarius. Oh, and I hate sand. I’m convinced that hell is filled with sand. There is nothing good about the stuff. Absolutely nothing, and my island is covered in it.

That might sound strange coming from an Aussie, but it’s one of the primary reasons I moved to Melbourne a few years back. No sand in Melbourne! Well, there is, but it’s easily avoidable. That suited me just fine.

You’re probably questioning your decision to pick up this journal off the rotting corpse in front of you. Why did he even leave a journal, anyway? Well, I don’t have a volleyball sidekick, and I’ve been unsuccessful in locating any natives named after a day of the week.

What I do have is my wallet filled with worthless plastic and a journal with a few pencils stored in a waterproof case. My kid sister, Chana, decided to gift me a dream diary for my vacay. A. Dream. Diary. I’m still trying to pick the little unicorn stickers off the front. I didn’t have the heart to trash it at the time, choosing instead to shove it down my back pocket as I boarded the plane.

I have no interest in recording any dreams, but keeping a journal might go a long way in keeping me sane on this cursed island. It’s for my benefit, not yours. Maybe you will find something useful in it, or maybe even find some gross enjoyment in the reading of my last days. Honestly, I don’t care. All I ask is that you take my bones and lay me to rest back in Melbourne. If I have a chance to zombify one day, I might as well make it count. What good is a zombie on a deserted island?

So why’s an Aussie lumberjack like me flying north over the Pacific? I was sacked last week over a minor biffo with my boss. So what if a few punches were thrown? Welcome to the land down under! Friggin’ dunny licker.

Suffice it to say, I felt like getting away for a while. Somewhere people didn’t speak English. A place where I could just be left alone and enjoy some peace and quiet. Worst. Decision. Ever.

I had a window seat and saw these monstrous clouds tumbling in out of nowhere. A dark shape fell from the sky and scraped the edge of the plane’s wing. I still have no idea what the shape was, but its passing graze was enough to send us into a graveyard spiral. We dropped hundreds of metres every second. The flight attendants kept telling us we would be fine, but no one believed them. Not when they spoke with trembling voices and were struggling with their own safety belts.

The pilot kept us airborne for another 15 minutes (a god-awful 15 minutes) where the power kept flickering on and off. Half of us were screaming, and the other half were dead quiet. I was one of the quiet ones, that was, until we took a 90-degree nosedive. Hey, I don’t care what kind of tough guy you think you are, but free-falling from six kilometres up is friggin’ scary, and I would appreciate you not giving me any flack about it. Thank you.

I don’t remember much from the actual crash, just holding onto my seat cushion for dear life as the plane split in half and rolled across the ocean waves. I think I might have been tossed out through a tear in the fuselage at some point. There was fire everywhere, but no screaming. The screaming had stopped.

The wreckage quickly sunk into the depths of the sea. It was just me and my little floatation device, no life raft or supplies of any kind. I thought of simply taking a Jack Dawson and letting go, but I couldn’t do it. I kept telling myself the rescue team would fly in at any moment. Really, I think I was just too scared to die.

I floated out on the open water for four or five days (it was hard to keep track). Each day blended into the next, and were it not for the persistent rain I would have succumbed to dehydration long before catching sight of this island yesterday.

It was a mighty struggle to clear the reef, seeing as how I was buggered by that point, but I eventually caught an inbound current that brought me up to its white sand shore. Ugh, sand.

It’d be nice if I could say that I immediately scoured the island for supplies or instantly set to work building up an S.O.S. signal, but that wasn’t the case. After a few minutes of kissing the disgustingly granular ground, I fell asleep.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

I did some exploring after I woke up, if only because I was insanely thirsty. Coconuts were plentiful, but I was really hoping for something more permanent, like a natural spring of fresh water. Picking up the sharpest rock in the immediate vicinity, I set out for the centre of the island. I figured that to be my best bet.

Walking grew more and more difficult the further in I traveled. Not only were the trees growing closer together, but the land was steadily elevating as well. There were animal noises coming from every direction. This terrified me at first, but I reasoned if there were animals on the island, that meant a genuine source of fresh water must also be present. Hoping the animals were of a docile nature, I followed the noise until I came across a small clearing at the base of a rocky hill disguised as a mountain.

The “mountain” was 50 metres tall and completely unclimbable from the east, south, and west. There was, however, a winding path to the north that led up to a flat cliff near the top of the mountain. The path looked steep, but manageable in a pinch.

Bringing my eyes back down to earth, I saw a cassowary (think emu with a bit of colour) and a few small shrews huddled together around a natural stone channel set against the side of the mountain. They all had their heads lowered and I could hear lapping noises coming from their direction. Water!

I wasn’t too worried about the shrews, but that cassowary looked like it could put up a fight. What were the chances it had encountered a human before? I was betting not likely.

I gripped my rock tight and stepped into the clearing. The shrews were the first to hear me as one and then all six of them popped their heads up to get a good look at the intruder. I swear I saw a large albino shrew lick its lips before thinking better of it and taking off in the opposite direction. The others followed suit, but I still can’t help wondering if shrews are carnivorous. God, I hope not!

The cassowary looked up at the shrews’ sudden departure and saw me stumbling forward. She (maybe a he, but I am choosing to think of her as a she. Seeing as how no one is around to correct me, my word is law. Mwahaha!) ruffled her dark feathers at my approach, but she didn’t charge. I figured that to be a good sign.

She eyed me warily as I took the final step to reach the stone channel. Careful not to make eye contact, I bent down and cupped some water into my hands. The cassowary grunted in approval (I guess?) and likewise bent her long neck back down to enjoy the refreshing water.

The water was only a few centimetres deep, likely collected from the last rainfall, but I wasn’t complaining. Sure, it would have been nice to have a more reliable source of water, but it rained frequently enough here that it likely wouldn’t make much of a difference.

I drank greedily for several long seconds, completely lost in bliss as the lukewarm water rejuvenated my parched throat. I got sick a few times from drinking too fast, but I couldn’t help it. It tasted so good!

After I had my fill, I laid on my back and simply stared into the sky above. The cassowary left my side at some point. I’m not exactly sure when. All the animals had left the little clearing, and I was once more alone.

Plans started formulating in my mind. My biggest need, water, was taken care of, and I had already seen that the island was bountiful in both fruit and small animals. Nourishment wouldn’t be a problem.

Shelter was the next issue I would need to solve. Tropical storms could pop up at any time, and call me crazy, but I had grown accustomed to sleeping with a roof overhead. I had a pretty good idea how to build one too. You might find this hard to believe, but lumberjacks happen to be pretty good with their hands.

I started making a mental list of the materials I would need to make a proper lean-to. Sticks, of course, along with some sizable rocks and palm fronds. Couldn’t forget palm fronds. The lean-to wouldn’t keep out any curious little critters, but it would keep me dry.

This… this is when things started getting weird. As soon as I sat up to get working, I was hit with this ear splitting headache. If there was ever a time I would have killed for an aspirin, that would have been it. My god, it was terrible. I felt like my brain wanted nothing more than to escape the confines of my skull. Said skull, however, wanted nothing more than to shrink down at least two sizes. I blacked out at some point.

When I woke up, the crystal blue sky was completely gone. The sky was blanketed by dark clouds with forked lightning streaking (in every direction. Unusual, but not unheard of. What was really strange were the words hovering in front of me. I swear I’m not crazy, or at least, I wasn’t when I made this journal entry. I make no promises as to my current mental state at the time of your reading this.

Anyway, back to the wording. No idea how it was floating in midair, but this is what it said in wicked gold lettering:

Congratulations on being counted among the surviving 90% of your race! Enjoy these Constel Credits as a reward during your allotted preparation period!

Constel Credits Received: 100

The introductory respite following the Great Breach has nearly expired. You will need to survive each successive wave to earn more Constel Credits. These Constel Credits may then be redeemed to unlock further items and abilities.

Would you like to redeem your Constel Credits now?

I kid you not, two holographic buttons appeared just as I finished reading. Want to know what they said? I’m going to tell you, anyway. One said YES and the other NO, because why not?

If you’re anything like me, that message would have struck you as a bit strange. I think my exact words were, “HOLY FREAKING HELL!”

What happened to everyone? Who sent the message? What did it mean by waves and credits? How were these words floating in front of me? These questions and more popped into my head. I had no idea how to answer any of them.

This all happened an hour ago. The two bubbles are still hovering in the air, just waiting for me to make a decision. Yeah, about that…

I’m currently sitting on the other side of the clearing, still a little freaked out by the whole magic words and apocalypse thing. Figured I would do some writing to take my mind off of… everything. This is my first official entry, second day on the island, and truth be told I’m hoping there won’t be many more. Rescue helicopters have to be sweeping the ocean looking for me, right?

That would be ideal, but I also wouldn’t be surprised to learn I’ve simply been hallucinating. A sun stroke seems most likely. Sleep. I need sleep. I’m sure everything will be just fine tomorrow. Maybe I’ll even wake back up on the plane!