When it happened he was unconscious for several hours and was never aware of how his body made it to shore. He awoke lying on a sandy beach of an island paradise that would take him several days to explore. There wasn't much to salvage from any wreckage, but that he rescued and he just kept looking for more. He had enough of the essentials to create a home and survive here, of that he felt confidently sure.
But what of rescue? He hadn't even dared to allow himself to think of that and raise his hopes and dreams, He had some of the broken wood and one or two of the masts and parts of washed up old beams. Yet before he'd thought if that his survival was all that came to his mind and that ot others it seems. For he combed the beaches and coves or cliffs for anything that moves on sea, sand or rock, perhaps it gleams?
I guess he was hoping for the reflection of a compass or spyglass in the hands ot one of the sailors. Or maybe the far off sight of a flag or glimpse of hope from the decks of one of the far flung foreign whalers. As he searched in desperation a little black cloud formed over his head as if fashioned precisely for him by tailors. And then proceeded to follow him all day long getting darker even in the sun when he thought of all his failures.
How had they come to this and why was everyone gone with only him stranded and fearing for his skills? He wasn't cut out for survival he had no training and never had been good in any sort of battle of wills. He knew that if you didn't get fresh water and cat a healthy dict there are many other ways an island kills. And as he drew these pictures in his mind the cloud darkened ever more and from it rain then spills.
He's all alone and on a deserted island trying to seek the source of his water and bolster his meagre rations. As he explores the tiny cloud moves with him night and day as if by his making the dark colour it fashions. He starts to hate it for the gloom it brings and this just depresses him more and kills his passions. All the joys he'd otherwise sec were lost to him now as even his bitterness and despondency has moans.
He complains all day to himself about the constant rain making him wet and causing him such grief. Climbs hills and hacks through forest always hoping to discover someone or some sort of light relief. Wades through endless mud and passed groves where the fruit lay ripening for a time so very brief, Yet all the time he's fighting his cold cloud of rain and shivering and trying to quieten his chattering teeth.
And then it happened he woke up one day to the most beautiful sunrise in the sky and had an epiphany, The cloud is the source of his salvation for it offers him the drinking water, why didn't he see? And he began to accept its value in this tropical paradise hed been lucky enough to reach unexpectedly. Started realising he'd always wished to have his own place free from rules and obligations, this was his opportunity.
The cloud still followed him but he turned his mind from hate towards a love and appreciation. He elevated himself here and built a lite and home that otherwise would have been well above his station. The cloud turned on his mood as if he controlled it to help him, but these days it only rained to suit his situation. It could be his water source, his shower or even cool him when he got too hot - it was a revelation.
That black storm cloud of his that followed him around was like the spirit of his friends sent to his aid. And it observed his pattern of life and soaked up all the emotion that he couldn't help but have made But now it stored his joy at vibrant colours and nature at its best, plentiful seas and a rich harvest displayed. The seaman started thinking of enjoying the present more and a happy future, as the past began to fade.
His beard is overgrown and he's worn the same shirt over a year now but he doesn't mind how he looks, He found a chest more precious than jewels and clothes for it yielded him a treasure of many great times books. He honed his skill at farming and created things from nothing each day, until he wasn't thinking "life sucks". Built himself a spectacular tree house and hung his meagre belongings up on several wooden hooks.
And the cloud became his friend and confidante sharing his wishes and dreams, a sponge for all his thought. He was now so grateful tor what he had and to the paradise that fate and circumstance had his ship brought. His heart loved more freely and he had become, with trial and error, knowledgeable by being self taught. Here on a secluded island of his, with his cloud and freedom, imagination and determination were caught.
Scarlet macaws speak to him to wake him from his slumber and start the day with a swim in the warm sea. He had fresh fruit and coconut milk for his breakfast and then decided he'd go for a long wandering journey. He packed a bag and filled it with provisions and a blanket, took his musket he'd been lett with graciously. Alejandro Selkirk was his name and the island was Mas Afuera in 1704, an archipelago off the coast of Chile.