This is a work in progress I am doing out of my spare time. Anything you have to say is appreciated.
Alright... Alright... Let me just explained what has/may/or will occur.
The last thing i-ii-i-I r-r-remember was riding on that god fors-s-saken ship. On the side was an inscription that read: The Royal Pilgrim. There was a crash, then well, I don't know. I woke up on an island, it had a few abandoned houses, a wrecked boat, and a dull, grey, brick lighthouse. Now that I recall... that wrecked boat... may have been how I got there. Dazed, I stuttered about the island searching for anything of possible help or nourishment. I came up empty-handed. 'So here it ends,' I whispered out. I-ii-i was under the impression that I would die, and that I would never be found. I had first thought it, then feared it to be true. I was a grown man, on a deserted island, and I was about to have a complete mental breakdown. For a while, insanity seemed like a muse, like a phantasm that brought a light with it. But no... I had remained sane. It had almost saddened me. The thought of finality, the thought of eternal peace... had faded. Now what did I have? I checked the island one more time, but yet again, my actions were in vain. Then, I had a thought: What if... I did the unthinkable. What if I killed myself. That would be another shot at the once relished idea of eternal peace and solitude. I relished the idea entirely. I had finally come up with something of use. I wouldn't be hurting anyone... just myself. But... I could never bring myself to do it. The idea, the foretold outcomes... they all seemed so...so...ideal. Yet... I couldn't bring myself to do it. Instead, I just climbed to the top of the lighthouse, and looked out.
Then... the crushing reality of it all came. I clutched my stomach. The pain was too much. I hadn't eaten in days, and the island was completely deserted. No, there would be no savior for me. I would be doomed to die; alone, starving, and depressed. Every day it got worse. Then one day, I lost it. I was breathing hard, then I fell to the floor, paralyzed.
'So this is it. This is how it all ends. This is my story, and there is no one to come for me. How pitiful.' I could barely manage to say those words before a dark figure picked me up.
Story in a nutshell
I-ii-i
[editline]26th November 2012[/editline]
Maybe a bit less of that cliche'?
I laughed at "I stuttered about the island"
Comically incorrect but actually works in this story :v:
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