Shipbuilding

The man got to work.

He toiled for five days straight.

He felt both exhausted and accomplished.

The man sat eating foraged fruit in front of his fire, and a small but sturdy raft sat nearby beneath the cloudless, starry sky.

He leaned up against his supplies and ran through his mental checklist one more time: two weeks' worth of fresh water (and a solar still for use after that), his net, his spear, and what was left of his cloak to use as protection from the sun. Two baskets of fruit. His hat, his knife, extra material for the sails, extra bamboo and rope for repairs. The man knew he might be sailing to his death in the morning, but he was desperate to know what was on the other side of the sea. There had to be someone there.

He was excited. He was terrified. He was leaving the only place he'd ever known to find what lay on the other side of the water, and the thought filled him with a strange elation. He had so much left to discover.

The man smiled. He sat back down in front of his fire and cracked open an oyster with a sharpened rock. He held the half-shell up as a toast to the island around him.

"Cheers to you, Useless Island."

JACE, ALONE