Island Journal
April 5th, 1791
The sun loomed dangerously overhead, threatening to burn the very morsels on the Earth's surface. I swept a hand over my forehead, which was covered in sweat and smeared with blood. My clothes, now soaked in seawater, were nothing more then rags. The ship, a large and marvelous ship, was now at my feet, broken into large, uncountable pieces.
I am Captain James III. I come from England, and was on a search for gold and gems in the new land, where no man has ever set foot, but my ship was attacked by a terrible storm. The clouds were black as night, showing no mercy, the waters like monsters unspeakable to men.
Now, as I searched the remains, nothing looked the same as before the journey. My men were lost at sea, never to be found again and never to see their families again. Great waves had smashed down on the deck, splintering the wood as buckets of rain pelted our skin and soaked our clothing, then the waters swept my men away as though they were merely rag dolls in it's cruel game.
I walked through the wreckage, searching for any items that could be salvaged, my feet bare from the waters sweeping my shoes from my feet during the crash. Once I finished collecting the items that were still usable, I laid them out carefully under the shadow of a tree, which I sat under soon after, to get away from the blazing sun. My journal, which I am writing in, telling my tale, my quill, a small canister of ink, 4 bottles of rum, a pair of boots, and a periscope. Periscopes allow us humans to look into to see over our level height. I slipped on the boots, they were a bit small, but would have to work. The rum I'd save. The periscope however, I pulled up as I stood. I looked for a suitable tree, and after finding one, began to climb. It was a slow and painful process, my hands and feet slipping several times, but finally I made it almost to the top, but high enough that I could use the periscope. I settled it on a sturdy branch and looked out.
The scene I saw was beyond breathtaking. The treetops were green with splashes of color, for the trees had blossoms and fruits. The land seemed to have no end to my eye. The green of the trees, the splashes of the rainbow painted upon the leaves and branches, as though the gods themselves had sprinkled pain chips onto a green canvas. Oh, what a sight to see.
April 8th, 1791
Days have passed, and I have come to realize that no one is coming to rescue me from this beautiful hell. I have looked on my map, I was searched every corner of the parchment, and have come to realize as well that this island that my ship has crashed upon has no name, and no man has ever set foot on it. I am losing hope of surviving this.
April 9th, 1791
A day has passed and as I write this, my heart aches for home. I know that I may never get to go back there, and whoever may read this will know more about this wretched island then I do.
June 6th, 2006
The island found by James was never found, but his journal pages describing it was found within a glass bottle, corked off with bloodied cloth, over 200 years later. Captain James III was never found, dead of alive.