Stranded

I was shipwrecked and alone on an uninhabited island with nothing but a solar powered MP3 player with a single pop song on it to keep me company. Surely I will go crazy. At first I am careful to only play the song occasionally out of fear I will grow tired of it, and having no alternative. But it’s a good song and there’s plenty of sunshine here to recharge the battery and before long I am playing it constantly and dancing around under the shade palms, naked and free.

After a time I grow anxious about being rescued. I miss normal life and I do not want my loved ones to worry and fret. I also miss coffee terribly. I get the idea to scribe a message on the upper part of the beach by digging trenches in the sand to form the letters. Perhaps someone in a passing airliner will notice it. I work for days on it, early in the morning and at dusk when it is not so hot. In a week or so it is finished:

BANG, BANG, BANG!

ON THE DOOR, BABY!

[cut to: brief animation of calendar pages turning one after another]

A year or two later they find my skeletal remains scattered about in the pristine white sand, headphones still plugging the ear cavities of that dopey, grinning skull, an MP3 player, with its solar cell lapping up endless sky, churning out that beloved pop song on repeat.