Wrecked

I had lost count of the number of days I had now been trapped on this blasted and desolate Island. It could have been four, it could have been tenteen.

Fucking baws.

I murmured mournfully as I shielded my eyes from the glare of the noon sun.

It hung there, glaring down with its baleful orange face.

Fuck you too.

I whispered through parched lips. Parched no matter how much of the foul fermented vegetable muck the locals encouraged me to pour down my throat.

They had been quite insistent and I, faced with the harsh reality of life on this barren rock had been happy to oblige.

Happy to drown in their foul drink. Happy to blot it all out.

How long would it be until I was rescued?

How's long before my eyes no longer stung with summer sweat in the brutal heart of winter?

One of the locals, a chap called Jeffrey arrived at my side with more fermented vegetable juice.

To think, all of this... was once a live volcano spewing molten lava and fire!

He gabbled excitedly, waving a hand at the funny porous rocks that surrounded us.

Aye, well. You're lucky you haven't seen my arse on a Friday night.

I uttered, eyeing him grimly.

Um, no. Thank you, sir.

Jeffrey sidled away.

I gave him a flat stare and picked up the foul local firewater and took a swig.

It was rancid but I carried on drinking it anyway.

Idly, I wondered at the sheer serendipity of this fellow being named Jeffrey. My left testicle was named Jeffrey too, the right, of course, must never be named.

To utter it's name is to risk its fearsome wrath.

But that's a story for another time.

The heat blazed down from the sky and I grimaced upwards.

Damn you.

I cursed at the sky.

Was this to be the end of me?

I gritted my teeth. No. If I could survive eighties kids television then I could survive anything.

I will get through this.

I must.