The sun climbed higher, its heat intensifying with each passing moment. I squinted against the glare, my eyes scanning the horizon in every direction. Nothing but endless blue met my gaze. No ships, no land, not even a speck that might hint at salvation.
My breath came in short, sharp gasps. I forced myself to inhale deeply, trying to slow the frantic pounding of my heart. Panic wouldn't help. I needed to think, to assess.
I looked down at myself, searching for clues. My clothes were simple - a tattered shirt, shorts worn thin by salt and sun. No pockets, no identifying marks. My skin was tanned, weathered. How long had I been out here? How can I not remember being out here? Have I gone mad?
As I examined my arms, I noticed a series of small scars crisscrossing my forearms. They looked old, healed. Evidence of a life I couldn't remember. What had caused them?
Then, on my left shoulder, something caught my eye. A tattoo, its lines faded but still visible against my sun-darkened skin. It depicted... something. A spiky triangular shape I felt I should recognize, but couldn't quite place. The word "tree" floated into my mind, but I had no context for it. What was a tree? How did I know that word when I couldn't even remember my own name?
I closed my eyes, trying desperately to conjure up any memory, any fragment of my past. But there was nothing. Just a vast, echoing emptiness where my life should have been.
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My eyes snapped open as a wave rocked the raft. The motion sent a fresh surge of panic through me. I was adrift, alone, with no idea who I was or how I'd gotten here. My breath came faster, my vision blurring at the edges.
"Calm down," I muttered to myself, my voice sounding strange and unfamiliar. "Breathe. Think."
I forced myself to take deep, measured breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Slowly, the roaring in my ears subsided. My racing heart began to slow.
Focus on what you can control, I told myself. Assess the situation. What do you have? What do you need?
I looked around the raft, really seeing it for the first time. It was crude but sturdy, a patchwork of materials that spoke of desperation and ingenuity. Had I built this? The thought brought a flicker of hope. If I had the skills to construct this, maybe I had other knowledge that could help me survive. All I had to do is remember. Or maybe it was like muscle memory.
My gaze fell on a small pile of objects near the center of the raft. A knife jammed in a tight spot between two planks, its blade dulled but still serviceable. Some random scraps of metal and glass. A big Coil of old frayed rope. Tools for survival.
But no food. No water. As if summoned by the thought, my throat constricted, reminding me of my desperate thirst. How long had it been since I'd last drunk? Eaten? I had no way of knowing.
The sun beat down mercilessly, drawing beads of sweat from my skin. I could almost feel myself dehydrating by the second. Water had to be my first priority. But how? I was surrounded by an endless expanse of undrinkable saltwater.
I closed my eyes again, trying to think. There had to be a way. People had survived situations like this before, hadn't they? If only I could remember...
But my mind remained frustratingly blank. No memories surfaced, no flashes of insight or hidden knowledge. Just the present moment, the heat, the thirst, and the vast unknown stretching out in every direction.
I opened my eyes, blinking away the sweat that stung them. Panic hovered at the edges of my consciousness, threatening to overwhelm me again. But I couldn't let it. Not if I wanted to survive.
One problem at a time, I told myself. Water first. Then food. Then... figure out where I am. Who I am.
I took another deep breath, steadying myself. Whatever happened, whatever I'd been through to end up here, I was alive. And as long as I was alive, there was hope.
With trembling hands, I reached for the knife. It was time to get to work.