[ WP ] You find yourself stranded on a deserted island

Salt foam thrashes and rolls around me, tumbling my battered body against rocks like razors. Salt water screaming in my wounds I roll helplessly in the churning surf, desperately gasping air as I bob to the surface occasionally, choking and gagging on spray. Water surges in my ears as I go under again and again, until something thumps against my back, knocking the last of my air out of my lungs in a gasp. My flailing arms thump against the object and desperately latch on to a thin trailing cord hanging from it. I haul myself up onto the dented aluminium packing case with feebly shaking arms, choking, my throat full of fire. 
 
 I awaken on a hard packed sand beach, my fingers still locked tightly on the nylon rope handle of the packing case. Cold rain lances at my face as I lay there panting and shivering, the breakers tugging at my ankles. I rise painfully to my feet, sodden workboots slogging through the saturated sand, I make my way up the beach. Staggering and weaving though the shattered detritus of my fishing boat that litters the beach, I head towards the dark tree line. Half blinded by sea spray and the deluge of the storm, the small, dayglo orange case that I stumble over almost escapes my attention and I have already passed it before I realise its value. I grab it and continue to the trees. They offer small shelter from the storm, the canopy shifts in the howling wind and with each movement a fresh glut of rain falls from the huge palm leaves, but it cuts most of the wind out and is better than nothing. Leaning against one of the thicker trunks, I eventually manage to crack open the orange case with shaking hands that I can no longer feel and that barely obey my commands to move. I unfold the silver foil space blanket from the first aid kit, and wrap it around myself as best I can. I curl up into a ball and fall into an exhausted sleep. 
 
 My head pounds. As I awaken more I become aware of other sensations, mostly pain. I manage to sit up groggily using the palm tree to prop myself upright. The shallow cuts on my hands from warding myself away from the rocks begin oozing blood a little again as I move them. The cuts look minor but they are encrusted with dirt. I clean them as best I can with a sterile pad from the first aid kit, and spray a little antiseptic on them. I fold the space blanket neatly and place it back in the kit, feeling a little better. 
 
 The fine golden sand of the beach it littered with scraps of wood, bits of equipment and the occasional chunk of styrofoam from the coolers I had on board. Picking through the fragments I collect everything that may still be useful and put it in a mostly intact styrofoam fish box that I have found. The blowlamp intense sun beats down on me like a physical weight as I drag my haul towards the trees and above the line of seaweed that denotes the high tide line and take stock of what I have. It is meagre indeed. A couple of power bars, three bottles of water and my small but well travelled suitcase. I retrieve my hat from the case and drape the clothing from the case over the scrubby bushes that dot the sand between the towering palms. They will need washing as soon as possible, my skin is already sore from the salt water in the clothes that I am currently in. Next best thing though will be to let them dry and beat as much salt out of them as possible. 
 
 As the day wears on, the tropical heat becomes more and more oppressive and mosquitoes buzz languidly in the the air. I slap at them as they land on me, and I force my way through the undergrowth in search of fresh water. The rule of threes in survival says that a man can go three minutes without air, three days without water and three weeks without food. My water supply will not last long, so I push further inland, sipping every once in a while from one of the bottles and nibbling a power bar. I know that mosquitoes need water to reproduce, so I am not overly surprised but am hugely grateful for the sound of gently trickling water. I follow the sound to a cool, crystalline stream and dip my head in the water. Laughing like a madman I refill my empty water bottle. I have found where base camp will be until I can figure out a way off this place. I look around at the small clearing with its little stream and see in my minds eye where my shelter will go, where to dig the latrine, where to make a fire pit. Maybe I can rig some kind of beacon on the beach with the space blanket as a reflector, but first I have to find a proper source of food. Sitting against a tree, dappled sunlight warming my toes and the ground soft beneath my buttocks, I reflect that if I can find a suitable food source, I could even be happy here for a while. Hell, maybe even delay setting up the beacon on the beach for a few weeks. 
 
 A rustling in the bushes draws my attention and I freeze in place as a rabbit nuzzles between the leaves. It nibbles delicately from the lower branches, its back turned to me and partially screened from view by a curtain of foliage. 
 
 I smile a predatory grin. Dinner is served.
