Personal Narrative

I look around in awe to find in my own surprise, hundreds of footprints whaling away on the white, open beach. As I stand there, wonderstruck, I imagine who or what the prints belong to. I want to go and examine the miraculous prints, but something was holding me back. My conscious was telling me something, I couldn’t quite understand or evaluate what it was trying to tell me, but I knew it was the inimical of satisfying.

The sun over the distant horizon was setting, I surmised it was about 7:00 p.m., It was Tuesday. I had been keeping track of the days ever since I had landed on torturous island, 6 years ago. I had been living off of fish, coconuts, and spring water. Life on the island wasn’t bad, only the loneliness could always find a way to dig under your skin and eat at your heart. The worst thing was not getting to see your family, and friends. I felt like dying every time I thought of it.

Was it an explorer on an expedition ? Could I be saved, and be brought back home? Thirty minutes later, I arrived back at camp, only to find I had was rampaged. My fifteen coconuts were gone, I had no more canteens of water, my tent fell into two. This was not the work of an animal. This was the work of a human, a strong human.

I woke up in the blazing heat to find the horrors on my body. The sun had been shining right over me. I had red burns lining my arms and legs. It was 1 p.m., I had overslept after all of the commotion. I instantaneously gather the remains of me supplies, and headed out. I wanted to find the savage that had destroyed my dedicational