Once there was a man who was marooned on a small island. All alone.
Everyday, all day long he would scan the horizon for rescue ships. But to no avail. Eventually he surrendered to the idea that he would spend the remainder of his life in that lonely hell-on-Earth. He prayed to God for rescue, but no ship ever came. Yet he still had faith.
So, he built an abode to protect him from the elements. And little by little over time, his humble shack was stocked with food, water (which was scarce) and a few valuable items that had washed ashore from his ship.
Months passed. Then a year.
Slowly the man had turned his shack into a home. A true refuge. There he felt safe. He kept his sanity by detailing his dreams, and misfortunes in a diary which miraculously had survived (along with a supply of pencils) his hours in the sea. He also had two books. The Bible and a copy of the sonnets of Shakespeare. Oh, how his spirits soared the day he found these two books in a case of other waterlogged and destroyed books. Somehow, the case has washed ashore. Every book was destroyed except these two which, for some reason, has been wrapped completely in wax paper.
In addition to this, he had a photograph of a woman. He did not know who it was. No doubt, the daughter, wife or sister of one of the ill-fated passengers. But she was beautiful. He named her Cassandra. To him she was as real as if she was flesh and blood. Over time, she became his companion.
Also there were his tools. A length of good rope, without which he could never reach the fresh water stream which dripped from a crack in the upper reaches of the cliffs overlooking the north shoreline. He'd fasted the rope to a tree and repel down and utilize another prize possession. His bucket. Somehow this old wooden bucket had come ashore. With it he was able to get an ample supply of good fresh water. Without it, he would be forced to wait for rainfall to drink. With the bucket and rope, he was able to have the one luxury that he enjoyed. Fresh cold water. Also among his valuable tools was a section of saw. With this piece of saw he was able to cut palm fronds for his roof. Cut wood for his fire, and butcher the sea turtles which were in good supply.
Everyday he begged God to send a rescue ship. He would dream of rescue. But always, he would wake up. Alone and lost. But, he reasoned, at least he had shelter in his primitive abode.
One day as he was exploring the far side of the island in hopes of finding an easier water source, he suddenly he noticed a great column of smoke rising above the cliffs. In a second he realized it was coming from the north shore area. Where his dwelling was.
His heart was throbbing wildly in his chest as he raced back to his shack. "Did I not extinguish my cooking fire?" he asked himself. As he came around the edge of trees his worst fears layed before him. What a sight to behold.
His shack was engulfed in flames. Gone were his tools, his beloved books, Cassandra, and his diary. Everything was gone.
He fell to his knees and begged God to answer him... "Why?" His sobbing continued unabated until finally he fell asleep from total exhaustion. His dreams were filled with visions of rescue, home and happiness. Just then a noise woke him from his dream.
Looking up he saw out in the bay... a great ship. Nearly to land was a small boat with a detachment of men. Was this too a dream?
It wasn't. It was real.
The men picked up the poor unfortunate and bore his sad frame to the boat and returned to the ship, where the man was given water and food. Still he wondered... is it a dream?
Soon the captain came in.
"How are you?" the captain asked.
"I am fine now. Thank you sir. Please... won't you tell me... how did you find me there in that place?"
"Oh sir", replied the captain "We saw the smoke from your signal fire of course."
Everyday, all day long he would scan the horizon for rescue ships. But to no avail. Eventually he surrendered to the idea that he would spend the remainder of his life in that lonely hell-on-Earth. He prayed to God for rescue, but no ship ever came. Yet he still had faith.
So, he built an abode to protect him from the elements. And little by little over time, his humble shack was stocked with food, water (which was scarce) and a few valuable items that had washed ashore from his ship.
Months passed. Then a year.
Slowly the man had turned his shack into a home. A true refuge. There he felt safe. He kept his sanity by detailing his dreams, and misfortunes in a diary which miraculously had survived (along with a supply of pencils) his hours in the sea. He also had two books. The Bible and a copy of the sonnets of Shakespeare. Oh, how his spirits soared the day he found these two books in a case of other waterlogged and destroyed books. Somehow, the case has washed ashore. Every book was destroyed except these two which, for some reason, has been wrapped completely in wax paper.
In addition to this, he had a photograph of a woman. He did not know who it was. No doubt, the daughter, wife or sister of one of the ill-fated passengers. But she was beautiful. He named her Cassandra. To him she was as real as if she was flesh and blood. Over time, she became his companion.
Also there were his tools. A length of good rope, without which he could never reach the fresh water stream which dripped from a crack in the upper reaches of the cliffs overlooking the north shoreline. He'd fasted the rope to a tree and repel down and utilize another prize possession. His bucket. Somehow this old wooden bucket had come ashore. With it he was able to get an ample supply of good fresh water. Without it, he would be forced to wait for rainfall to drink. With the bucket and rope, he was able to have the one luxury that he enjoyed. Fresh cold water. Also among his valuable tools was a section of saw. With this piece of saw he was able to cut palm fronds for his roof. Cut wood for his fire, and butcher the sea turtles which were in good supply.
Everyday he begged God to send a rescue ship. He would dream of rescue. But always, he would wake up. Alone and lost. But, he reasoned, at least he had shelter in his primitive abode.
One day as he was exploring the far side of the island in hopes of finding an easier water source, he suddenly he noticed a great column of smoke rising above the cliffs. In a second he realized it was coming from the north shore area. Where his dwelling was.
His heart was throbbing wildly in his chest as he raced back to his shack. "Did I not extinguish my cooking fire?" he asked himself. As he came around the edge of trees his worst fears layed before him. What a sight to behold.
His shack was engulfed in flames. Gone were his tools, his beloved books, Cassandra, and his diary. Everything was gone.
He fell to his knees and begged God to answer him... "Why?" His sobbing continued unabated until finally he fell asleep from total exhaustion. His dreams were filled with visions of rescue, home and happiness. Just then a noise woke him from his dream.
Looking up he saw out in the bay... a great ship. Nearly to land was a small boat with a detachment of men. Was this too a dream?
It wasn't. It was real.
The men picked up the poor unfortunate and bore his sad frame to the boat and returned to the ship, where the man was given water and food. Still he wondered... is it a dream?
Soon the captain came in.
"How are you?" the captain asked.
"I am fine now. Thank you sir. Please... won't you tell me... how did you find me there in that place?"
"Oh sir", replied the captain "We saw the smoke from your signal fire of course."