Chapter 2

I woke up to a sense of Déjà vu. I knew where I was, I knew how I got there but it all seemed the same as before, some other place. As how all Déjà vu cases end, I had no idea where the memory came from. But I knew that it was from a place that was three miles wide and surrounded by salt water.
I was somehow annoyed to say the least. It was annoying to wake up the in the same position, on the same sand, with the same crick in my neck. We had been on the island for 20 days and no one had come to rescue us. My leg had completely healed with only an ugly yellowish color left. I was counting the minutes. The fruit that we had was getting old to my taste buds, and no one had been able to catch anything with meat on its bones. Not even the fish that swam freely in the streams and sea.
I had met and made friends with everyone I didn’t know personally. There were 22 of us in all. 13 men and 9 women. The men were all fairly alluring – which by my experience I had never thought that the chances of them being attractive and all on the same plane would ever happen. We made very much contact and I had learned a lot about them. Like how Dean was our very talented architect who built our sturdy shelter. How Sam and his wife Victoria met in a bar in Wisconsin, how he gave her the cheesiest line that was ever said, but she took a chance and married him after three months of meeting. Matthew was a sweet and aspiring doctor specializing in neurology. Alex was the daughter of the most important cattle rancher west of the Mississippi, and wished to follow after him.
Collin was taken care of by his father who was chief of medicine back in Alabama, and never did a lick of work. Stephen was a funny tech student in Harvard, and always made the crowd laugh – he was one of the reasons I hadn’t went insane by that point. Adrianna was a European model in the high fashion business, very beautiful and a thick accent. She moved to L.A. to find better and faster work. Cameron was soft spoken and fragile. Everything about her was delicate; her hair, face, body, eyes. Jennifer was the youngest in our group. 17 and traveling to see her father who had open-heart surgery. She had a hard time getting her mind off feeling guilty for missing it. Lily was a very polite psychologist around the age of 40. But some times when I would walk past her, I felt like she was analyzing me.
The pilot of our plane was a man by the name of Stan Holmes. He was an older attractive man who decided to go into flying to follow in his father’s footsteps and carry the legacy. The attendant was also a man, Eric Stall. He was quiet but striking. Tall, 6’3 with curly blonde hair. He had an interesting scar on his arm, which he told me happened when he was sixteen and his cousin wanted to play with his father’s chainsaw and it accidentally fell on his arm.
“Eighteen stitches up the arm,” he told me, “and in return I only gave my cousin five.” He laughed and I couldn’t help but join in.
These people helped me with keeping my cool. They were fun people to hang around along with my friends that I had already known. Even though I hoped to get off this hellish island, I would only wish to keep in contact with these people I had met.