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These are transcriptions of the audio recordings made by Edwin Richards, CFO of Datinch Technologies, when he was marooned on Oileán Glas Nathair- the rough translation of which is "Green Snake Isle"- in March 2019.


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#suspense #survival #serial #miniseries #planecrash #lost #shortstory #island #fiction #desperation #castaway
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09.03.2019

Battery down to half full now. You know, I've always been a stickler for tucking my phone safely into my briefcase when they pour water at a meeting. One wayward splash, I feared, would be enough to frazzle the circuitry and cut me adrift from society. I never truly believed they'd succeeded in waterproofing the things but there you have it. The proof of the pudding is in the eating. It is three days since the storm washed me up here. I have paced up and down this godforsaken shoreline for the past two and a half days, but nothing. No other survivors, no Italian calf leather briefcase and no reception. This morning I trekked to the top of the cliff at the far end of the beach and still no service. Waterproof phone and I'm still cut off from civilisation. The irony isn't lost on me.

My name is Edwin Richards. I am the CFO at Datinch Technologies. This is my audio diary. If - or rather, when - I am found, I feel it would be prudent to have maintained a record so every detail is readily available to the emergency services and authorities. They should be getting close by now - there couldn't be that many islands along our flight path to check.

I have been alone since regaining consciousness. Three pieces of fuselage washed ashore last night which I have propped up to provide shelter from the sun. Perhaps someone with more hands-on knowhow than me could use that metal to amplify the phone signal. I can hear my father, the great mechanic and all-around DIY master, laughing at me. Should've helped out in the garage more when I was a wee nipper, shouldn't I? Look where studying has got me, right, dad?

If only ghosts could die of cancer, too.

Miraculously (if any of this can be considered a miracle) I seem to be unhurt. Ribs, arms, all fine. No coughing up blood. I can wiggle my toes and it probably won't be long until I can reach down past my gut and touch them. Which reminds me - food.

The tree line at the edge of the beach bears no fruit. I've seen jellyfish, starfish and skittering crabs when the tide goes out but no thanks, I'll be rescued soon so I can wait until then to eat some proper food. A bit of fasting never did anyone any harm and sure it's Lent anyway. Besides, the thought of eating a starfish makes my stomach turn. Would it be gooey or crunchy? Yeeugh. If I ate a raw fish off this beach I don't think I could so much as look at another fish supper for the rest of my life.

Switching phone off now to conserve battery. Will report back tomorrow.

8 Septembre 2019 16:43:47 0 Rapport Incorporer 0
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A propos de l’auteur

Stevo Penny Just a guy looking for somewhere to post stories that take you on a wild ride. The literary equivalent of a fish supper.

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