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.