Day 1. I’m not even sure what day it is, or how long I’ve been here.  I remember being on that tiny little plane, being hit by lightning, and ending up in the ocean.  I know I’m somewhere in the Pacific.  All I remember after that is waking up on a beach.

Three days after that, I find a wooden chest (I think it’s left over from World War II), and it had this journal among some other things in it.  So, here I am writing.  Maybe someone will find it someday and realize what happened to me.  If I get out of this, maybe someone in Hollywood will make a movie out of this and I can retire somewhere nice.  How would that be?

I don’t think there’s anyone else on this island.  I haven’t hiked around it that much yet, but it’s very quiet here.  Well, except for the birds, and whatever lives in that jungle.

I don’t have much to survive on.  I found a tiny cave, which is where that chest I mentioned came from.  All it had in it was the chest and some bones.  Don’t know for sure, but I think they’re human.

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