I write this letter hoping that it will be found
and delivered to my family, whose address
is on the reverse. By my reckoning,
I have been on this island five months,
and have not seen a living soul in
all the time. Were it not for the moon,
I would begin to wonder if I am indeed
on planet Earth; for this place is strange
to me, as are the creatures in it.
This pen, my last, is running out of ink
My health is good, and I am eternally hopeful
of rescue: on the beach, I have the makings
of a signal fire ready to ignite at any sign
of a ship or plane. So I may reach home before
you receive this message in a bottle.
Since I wrote the words above, we have had
a storm that destroyed my lean-to and
washed away all my food and firewood.
I have spent the past three weeks catching up,
and only recently had the time to find the pen
and this paper, which fortunately stayed dry.
I hope all is well with you; of my location,
I can say only that the island is about two
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