I did not land in Sydney, Australia after all. I am alone on an island close to Australia. I don’t even know where I am. The plane crashed into the sea and after hours on a raft I ended up here, all alone, I think. I am fine, only a few bruises and scratches. I must have been lucky.
I have to build a shelter here and find food and water. All I have is this diary and my knife. The island is not that big. After I realized which situation I am in, I went down to the coast and just started walking. I was not sure, but I did not think the island was that big, so I expected to end up at my raft again if I just kept walking on the coast. And I was right; the island is not that big. I did not see any food except for a few mushrooms, but I am not certain that they are healthy.
Even though I am in a bad situation, some facts light me up a bit: the island has trees, so it will not be hard to build a shelter, I saw a bit of string and some robes, so if I have to build a raft that will actually hold me up, I will be able to do that and at last the island has various heights, and I am pretty sure it is easier to find freshwater when the terrain is various.
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