Stranded in Paradise

When Dad was alive, he talked about sailing from Boston, Massachusetts, to Auckland, New Zealand, through the Panama Canal: the route that we're on right now.

My sisters and I inherited his sailboat, but not much else, unless you count a few thousand dollars in debt.

"Storms coming," says my older sister Gwen: six feet tall, slender build, shoulder-length light brown hair.

"You sure? That'd be weird this time of year," I say.

She scowls at me, pointing far off in the direction we're sailing. "See?"

To be fair, it does look like there are some distant dark clouds.
"Yeah, you've got a point," I say.

I walk over to the bow to retrieve our "deckhand," my younger sister Poppy: five foot two inches, curvy build, long light brown hair. She's lying on her stomach in her bikini, getting some sun.

Lying next to her is our cousin Kit: five foot four inches, wavy black hair, average build. She's a year older than Poppy, but still three years younger than me.

"Oh, hey, Danny," she says, waggling her butt at me, "here to join us?"

"'Fraid not, Kitty." I turn to my younger sister. "C'mon, Popsicle, we need you. Storm's coming."

Poppy hops to her feet, throwing on her sheer cover-up, and giving me a mock salute. "Aye, aye, cap'n!"

Kit looks distressed. "What should I do?"

Kit's never gone sailing with us before; she's just along for the ride.

"It might get pretty rough, probably best if you stayed down in the hold," I say.

The storm blows in remarkably fast. The sky is dark, the wind whips us, and the waves are choppy and enormous.

I stay by the wheel, near the stern of the boat; Gwen and Poppy are by the mast and our reefed mainsail. The noise of the storm is ever-present; I couldn't shout to Gwen at the mast if I wanted to. Poppy runs over to me.

"That's too much sail still! What's Gwen doing?" I shout.

"She says we need to power the boat more," Poppy shouts back.

"I was very specific! Take the mainsail down and reef it more," I yell.

Poppy runs back to Gwen, and they exchange words that I can't hear. They don't follow my directions. Goddamnit, Gwen, this is not the time for this kind of thing. We agreed that I'd be captain before we left. I spent the most time sailing with Dad. Gwen is a competent sailor, certainly better than Poppy, but still! If Gwen weren't the oldest, we wouldn't have this kind of issue. I shout at them, but they can't hear me.

The wind's overpowering us; I can't control the tiller like this.

Something catches my eye over the starboard side of the boat. It almost looks like land. Where the hell are we? Certainly in the South Pacific, but there shouldn't be land anywhere around us for miles.

When I think about what happens next, in retrospect, it's a lot like how I imagine a plane crash or a bad car accident to be: the brief sensation of a violent collision followed by a dreamless void.

Apparently, I woke up shortly after Gwen pulled me ashore, but I have absolutely no memory of that. What I remember is waking up in the morning on the beach, under mild but warm rain, Kit asleep next to me, and the catastrophic wreckage of my late father's boat just offshore.

The mast has separated from the deck, which is still partially intact, but the entire fiberglass hull has been shredded to ribbons.

"Oh, God!" I say aloud to no one in particular. "What are we going to do now?"

Gwen's voice behind me says, "how's your head?"

It's only then that the throbbing pain enters my conscious awareness. "Ow..." I say mutedly.

"Poppy and I got thrown clear, but you and Kit got banged up a bit."

"Has Kit woken up at all?" I ask.

"Yeah, I kept her up for a bit last night, but we all passed out eventually. She's doing alright, I guess, but she's probably got a concussion."

"What are we going to do? We can't sail anywhere in that." I gesture towards the wreck.

"We'll figure that out later. First, we survive. Food, water, and shelter are our main priorities now. Poppy and I spent the morning retrieving our supplies. We didn't lose too much, although Kit and Poppy's duffel bags ripped open, so they're missing some of their clothes."

"That's not too bad, I guess. Is there anything else on the wreck?"

"Nothing we could find," she replies.

"Have you explored the island at all? Is it populated?" I ask.

"Not that I know of. But no, we haven't checked it out."

"I'll walk the perimeter then. Have Poppy look for food: she knows so much about plants, ya know?" I say.

"I already asked her to do that," Gwen says.

I walk the perimeter of the island. I go fast, but it takes about an hour and a half to do. There aren't any boats, docks, or any other sign of habitation. We may be alone on this island after all.

Kit's awake when I get back, but she doesn't look great. There are a few large purple bruises staining her arms and legs. She's sitting up, sipping water from her pink Stanley.

"How are you feeling, Kitty?"

"Like shit... Could be worse, I guess." She sighs.

"You've looked better."

"The fuck are we gonna do now?" She says in an exasperated tone.

"I don't know. Try to survive first and foremost... Then... I guess we'll try to get off the island somehow: built a raft or something."

"God fucking damn it." She says in a defeated tone.

"I know, right?"

Unlike my sisters and I, Kit's parents are still alive, but she has a pretty bad relationship with them. She was excited to go on this trip with us, even though she doesn't know how to sail.

We sit in silence for a little bit. Until Gwen comes back from the wreckage, wearing her modest one-piece bathing suit, she invites me to comb the wreckage for the rest of our stuff.

We do still have our cookware, utensils, and kitchen knives, although we'll need to cook over an open flame, campfire style.

We recovered all of our hammocks.

We have a small hatchet, a large Bowie knife, and all of our personal pocket knives except for Poppy's. We even found my shaving kit: mirror, straight razor, strop, whetstone.

We even have a flint and steel fire starter.

We have enough rations for a few weeks, but it would be best to keep them for as long as we can.

Gwen and I are bickering about whether or not to bring the mast on shore or just the sails and lines, when Poppy returns from surveying the island.

"I've got good news!" She squeaks.

Gwen and I stop arguing for the moment.

"What'd you find?" Asks my older sister.

"A few things! So, there's coconut palms all over the island, but I'm sure you've seen them already, cuz they're all across the shoreline. There's other stuff too, there's tons of banana trees: the wild ones with seeds and stuff, most aren't ripe right now though-"

"Better than I thought," I say.

"I didn't even get to the best part! There's tons, and I meantonsof breadfruit!"

We both kind of look blankly at her. She looks momentarily exasperated, but her excitement quickly returns.
"That's huge, guys! Breadfruits are huge; they're like enormous potatoes. We'll probably still want to find other sources of food, though. There's screwpine too, so that'll be a huge help."

This wins Poppy some more blank stares.

She continues. "Screwpine is this funny palm tree lookin' thing, it's not actually a palm, but that doesn't really matter. They've got big edible fruits, and you can use the leaves for weaving."

"Anything we can use to make spear shafts?" Asks Gwen.

"Sure! There's bamboo. That should work, right?" Asks Poppy.

"Should work." Says Gwen curtly.

"Why do you want to make a spear?" Asks Poppy.

"There's a lot of fish around here, some really big ones. Crabs too, but obviously I won't need a spear for them."

We head back to where Kit is resting.

"Seems like we should be able to find food," I say to my cousin.

We explain the food situation to her; she still doesn't look thrilled, but I think she's frowning a bit less.

"Want to help us drag the mast ashore? We want to use the sail as a temporary roof." I ask.

"I think I still need to rest. It's a miracle I didn't break any bones." She replies.

"Suit yourself," I say.

It takes well over an hour to drag the main mast onshore and remove the sail and lines.

We use the sail to make an angled tarp suspended between a few palm trees, a short walk from the shore. We're able to put all four of our hammocks, as well as most of our supplies, underneath it.

Poppy spends the rest of the day gathering breadfruit and bamboo. Gwen tries her hand at making spears. I build a fireplace, gather deadfall, and get the fire going. Kit just rests until nightfall, then volunteers to cook; she did most of the cooking for us on the boat.

We have boiled breadfruit with a few hunks of dried beef from our sea rations. It's not the best, but none of us have much of an appetite anyway.

I don't cry until I'm alone that night. I must have made some noise, because I feel a small hand on my shoulder.

"You alright, Danny?" Asks Poppy earnestly.

"Yeah... I'm all good." I lie unconvincingly, covertly trying to dry my eyes.

She sits down next to me and rests her head on my shoulder.

"It's ok to be emotional. It's been a tough day."

"Yeah... It's just a lot... It's not just that we're stranded, but we also lost Dad's boat for good." I say.

She rubs my back, soothingly with one hand: "I know, but we would've needed to sell it eventually. We have more of Dad's stuff back home."

"I guess you're right," I say, but my glum mood sticks.

Poppy and I sit next to each other in silence for a long time, her head on my shoulder.

Hard work is a good way to forget you're supposed to be in a bad mood. We establish our roles over the next few days. Poppy gathers breadfruits, bananas, jasmine flowers, and the like. Gwen goes spear fishing: we all get acclimated to a diet of fresh fish. Kit mostly rests and recovers.

I head inland and chop bamboo with out hatchet. I build each of us a simple bamboo hut with thatched roofs and a place to hang our hammocks. Kit and Poppy help out when they have time; we have the huts up in less than a week. They're built inland, and far enough away from the wreck site that we can't see it, which is probably for the best. They're also built far enough from each other that we're afforded a little bit of privacy, within sight and shouting distance of each other, though.

The huts have simple packed earth floors, but Kit weaves screwpine mats for them, like a sort of rug.

Not everything we do is for survival. In fact, we have more free time than we know what to do with.

Kit and I built a small hut right next to our campfire and cooking area. The sole purpose of this hut is to play games, but the only game we have is a magnetized chess board; it's missing a white pawn, which was replaced by a plastic yellow Sorry piece, with a magnet glued to its base.

Kit and I decide to play a game. It's usually a coin flip who wins. Gwen can usually beat either of us.

Kit wears her only remaining shirt: a light blue V-neck crop-top.

I have the black pieces, so Kit goes first.

"You're looking better, Kitty. How's the head?"

"It's fine, I guess. It doesn't hurt anymore. I can't really tell if I'm still concussed, though. It's not like there's a doctor around here."

We trade pawns; I move my knight.

"You seem like you're doing better. You've been acting more like your normal self," I say.

We trade bishops; I develop a pawn towards the center.

"Maybe I'm just getting used to island life,"she says, "but what's the plan? We need to get off the island eventually."

I pause to think, moving my knight, then we both castle.

"Gwen and I've talked about building a raft. We've got enough sail already, so we wouldn't have to find a way to make canvas, but it will be a little dangerous to escape. As long as we have enough food and water saved up, I think we'll be fine. But... yeah... we won't be leaving too soon. Getting used to island life for the time being is probably for the best."

She puts her rook on an open file, defending her bishop.

"Well, whatever, I guess it's kind of like an extended vacation," she says, with an air of acceptance.

Poppy bounces into the hut. "Hey, guys! Can I play?"

"We're already playing, Popsicle. You could help Kit if you want." I say, smirking at my cousin. Kit glares back at me for a split second.

Poppy helps Kit lose a pawn, her bishop, and then the game.

We sit around the campfire that night; we almost always sit around the campfire to eat whatever Kit's made for dinner. We like to tell stories to keep us entertained.

Poppy decides to tell a story. It's really hard to follow; it's about a talking tree that teaches other trees to talk, and they join forces to save the forest. Everything Poppy comes up is pure inspiration, alarmingly original, and completely disorganized.

Kit seems like she's in a much better mood tonight, laughing along with Poppy at the jokes in her weird tree story. It's nice to see.

The next morning I spend a bit of time expanding the water collection system. I've been using sheets made of woven screwpine leaves, set up at angles to pour into a cistern we dug pretty far inland. We still have to boil the water, but it works well enough.

I head to the beach, hoping to relax for a little bit.

My cousin is lying on her stomach, on a beach towel, sunbathing. She's wearing black bikini bottoms and nothing else.

Her shapely legs only bear the faintest memory of her bruises from the accident.

"Mornin' Kitty, you're looking a lot better today, " I say.

"You think?" She asks, turning her head to face me, but keeping most of her torso pressed against the towel.

"Yeah, your bruises are just faint little yellow patches at this point. How's your head?"

"It's alright, I think. It doesn't hurt or anything, but I still feel kind of... off, ya know?" She replies.

"Yeah I think I get what you mean. Could just be life on the island. It's still kind of surreal."

"Yeah... I've got a favor to ask," she says, rolling over and sitting up a bit.

I put my hand in front of my face and try to avert my eyes, but I still glimpse her bare chest for a moment.

She just chuckles at me. "What? Never seen tits before?"

"Not yours!" I say, defensively.

"You can put your hand down, dumbass. I don't have any of my bikini tops anymore. You know I lost most of my clothes," she says matter-of-factly.

I lower my hand. I try to maintain eye contact, but I can't help but notice them. Her perky C-cups fit her hourglass figure perfectly.

I need to get off this island. I don't know how long I'll be able to resistthosekinds of thoughts.

I meet her amused gaze. "What was the favor?"

"Oh yeah!" She says, "you shave every day, right?"

I nod curtly. She continues, "could you shave my legs? I've never used a straight razor before, and I'm so sick of stubbly legs."

"Umm... I definitely could, but it's kind of, uh, intimate," I say lamely, trying very hard not to look at her breasts.

"I don't mind. I mean, we're family, aren't we? It's only weird if you make it weird. Plus, I've asked Gwen and Popsie, but neither of them've used a straight razor; I don't wanna get cut."

I reluctantly agree to do it.

I strop my razor a few dozen times, very quickly. I'm used to shaving on a boat, so this won't be very difficult. I grab a bar of soap and lather up Kit's left calf. She's propped up, still topless, and watching me.

I pull her skin taut, giving me an ideal surface; I shave away her stubble in long, deliberate motions. I work on her right calf, feeling every inch of her skin.

I clean and strop my razor before I continue. Feeling one of her calves, she exclaims, "It's so smooth!"

I finish stropping my razor. "Soap up your thigh for me," I command politely.

She raises her left leg slightly, pointing it at me. "You do it," she says, "I don't want to miss a spot."

I slowly run the bar up her thigh, trying hard not to show my body's reaction to the touch of her tight skin. I pull her skin taut and slowly shave my way up her thigh.
She spreads her legs a bit to give me room.

I shave until I'm right next to her bikini bottoms. As I pull her skin taut, my knuckles graze that spot between her thighs. She lets out a minute gasp, but says nothing.

I work on her other thigh, and as I get close to her groin again, I push my luck. I casually let the back of my hand rest between her legs, over her swimsuit. She pretends not to notice until I'm done.

"You weren't kidding when you said it was intimate."

I blush.

Before I have time to reply, I hear Gwen's voice. "What are you doing? Where's your shirt?!" Gwen interjects angrily.

"What do you want from me? In case you forgot: I lost almost all of my clothes!" Kit retorts.

"If you need a swimsuit, you can borrow one of mine," Gwen says.

Kit snorts. "I don't think they'd fit me, hun." Kit draws imaginary lumps in front of her chest with her hands.

Gwen's face reddens, and her facial features tighten. "Borrow one of Danny's shirts. He's got plenty," she says coolly, through gritted teeth.

I end up giving Kit a few of my shirts to keep. She puts on a white collared shirt, with quite a few buttons undone, and the sleeves rolled up. She still only wears her swimsuit bottoms. This look may be even more enticing than seeing her topless, but I'm not going to tell that to Gwen.

The next day, I lay on the beach, lazily sunning my bare torso: my de facto uniform on the island.

"I want to play volleyball," says my little sister Poppy.

"We don't have a ball or net," I respond.

"We've got plenty of rope, the net will be easy... as for the ball, I think we can make one, come on," she says, gesturing for me to follow her.

I follow her into the verdant interior of the island. We don't get too far before she stops me and points up at a cluster of coconuts."

"Goddamnit... That's why you wanted me to come?" I ask rhetorically.

"I'm afraid of heights! Youknowthat!" She tells me emphatically.

I wrap my limbs around the palm tree and try to shimmy my way up. As I get higher, it gets a little easier because of the downward angle of the tree. I get to the coconuts and use the Bowie knife to hack away at the stems, dropping about a dozen of them to the earth. The climb down is pretty nerve-racking. I drop out of the tree when I'm just a bit too high up, almost spraining my ankle.

"You alright?" Poppy asks, genuinely concerned.

"Yeah, I'm good, Popsicle," I respond, getting to my feet.

We each pick up an armful of the coconuts and head back towards the campsite.

She spends the next few days drying coconut shells and husks until she graces us with her final product: a ball made of a dried coconut shell, wrapped in a few layers of braided ropes made from coconut husk fibers.

Kit and I are spending the day lazily sunbathing on the beach when Poppy bounds over to us, arms outstretched. She proudly presents her "volleyball."

"It's done!" She says.

I groggily get to my feet. "Toss it here, Popsie," I say, opening my arms invitingly. She throws it at me, and I catch it. It's pretty light, but feels sturdy enough. I toss it in the air a few times, trying to get used to the feel. It's not as bouncy as a real volleyball would be.

"Hey, Kitty, catch!" I launch the ball at my cousin. We pass it back and forth a few times.

"I think this'll work. We've gotta test it out!" Kit says, "is Gwen still fishing?"

"Nah, she's carving spear points or something. I'll go get her!" Says Poppy.

We all meet up at the volleyball net. Kit and I made it out of a few sturdy bamboo poles and repurposed lines salvaged from the wreck.

We square up, 2 v 2. Gwen and Poppy versus Kit and me.

After a few practice rounds, we get into it. Gwen is easily the best at it, no surprises there. She was a prolific athlete back in high school, and she's six feet tall. Poppy is easily the worst; She's short and uncoordinated, but makes a real earnest effort lunging after the ball. Kit and I are both pretty average.