*Record player*

This is the captain of the Nimblecore, it is in this that I claim and accept full responsibility for the 33 souls lost in the crash of flight 99.

To whomever is listening to this, today is November 1st, 1985. I thought it best to find a way to keep track of events, times and places and found this record player most feasible to chronicle this little journey of mine, however short or long it may be.

Day one: In surviving the wreckage I’ve dislocated my shoulder, I've fastened a strap for my limp arm using a discarded log and a small piece of white cloth I managed to rip from my dead mate’s shirt as I crawled out of the cockpit. Please excuse my lack of sympathy for the dead for I feel certain I’m about to join them.

I’ve three broken ribs to add to my previous injury, my body is ridden with cuts from the crash, one particularly nasty gash on my right thigh is still actively oozing blood, I haven’t managed to cover and clean each one as thoroughly as I would like, no doubt my veins are now infused with dirt particles and many morsels of foreign substances and I’m expecting a severe infection to set in any minute.

I found a duffel bag, empty save for a pack of cigarettes and sugar free gum. After that I started surveying the crash site for rations and I came back with 4 water bottles and a stock of canned goods strewn about belonging to a food store owner who was on board I suppose. The sun is about to sit, now I must find shelter.

Day one: Last night I gathered the fallen leaves of a palm tree and used them to cover myself as I spent the night under it. Deep in my dreams a soft padding on the sands woke me, my body is quite warm, maybe it's the fever, maybe it was only in my dreams. Nevertheless it's obvious I must find shelter.

This morning I took a stroll along the beach where I found a cave by the shore. With my what remains of my strength I’ve rolled a nearby boulder and hoisted the massive rock to cover the entrance. For 3 days I subsisted on the contents of my duffel bag before it was evident to me that I needed to go on another trip for grub.

That night was spent shaking in violent fever upon my bed of leaves, I wouldn't survive long without some sort of medication or antibiotics. In a fit of delirium I heard a low rumble outside my stone door it frightened me out of my coma like state. I rose and peered through a narrow opening but whatever the source it was gone.

Day two: I rolled the boulder hoisted at the cave entrance to create just enough space for me to squeeze through and left as the first ray of sun broke through, intending to go back to where the plane was. As I walked I set my eyes to survey the terrain, the sandy beach was bounded by leafy palm trees that stretched further and deeper into the island transforming into woods. I was yet to find a sign of an inhabitant, man or beast, I made up my mind to explore the forest when my health improved.

I finally arrived to the crash site, it was my first real look at the carnage that followed. Heaps of corpses covered the beach, one sight stood out, being particularly devastating, a husband and his wife wrapped motionless in each other's arms with a small object tightly pressed between them wrapped in white, beautifully patterned covering. Probably they thought that holding their child between them in that manner would protect it from surrounding peril.

The air was very heavy with the scent of death I'm finding it difficult to think clearly. With my duffle bag in hand I walked over to a massive pile of luggage, I sat in a place where intermittent blows of breeze rejuvenated the air about and began ransacking for food and water, most pressingly a first aid kit.

I emptied one suitcase after another, on the floor lay strewn about heaps of designer pants and thrift accessories alike, nutritious substance was scarce however, and next to a bag of potato chips a six pack of diet soda and a box of assorted chocolate there was no hope of a real dinner tonight. I picked up some needles and a spool of regular sewing thread along with some small pieces of wood and the way hoping to fashion a few small traps near the hideout, that I may catch rabbits or squirrels if any kind of wildlife this island was home to decides to stir.

No sign of any medical equipment, as the sun rose I was sweating profusely and my head began to throb violently, the breeze diminish and the smell of corpses rose again, I could feel the contents of my stomach stirring and it was time to head home. I found a lighter, I picked up my bag of goods and as I turned for home and... to my horror, I saw it, a west African tigers was a few miles distant from me, was busy ripping on the couple and their child, it’s back towards me, I stood frozen unwilling to move a muscle until the beast seemed to prefer to dine elsewhere, I watched him drag their stiff bodies and roaring in anger as the hem of the women's dress entangled itself into piece of the wreckage, he finally grabbed hold of her by the neck and wrenched the bodies free, leaving a trail across the sand.

I saw the trail led far back to the east, opposite to my cave and in the direction of the wind. Thankful, I hopped and limped about to my home.

Day three: I decided not to venture outside the cave today. The fires I started booms and crackles and had become so soothing in the midst of this overwhelming silence, I began to make up dialogue for the dancing characters it's tongue reflected on the stone walls.

To keep my heart light, I jest to myself that I might’ve been a pirate in some past life and this is where I waited hours on end for my smuggled goods to arrive.

The night is quiet here, should you happen to have a keen ear you might hear the ruffle of leaves about or the lapping of waves on the sandy shore.

One single sound have become haunting of late, my feral friend evidently have tracked the scent of fresh game all the way to my cave and have been surveying the area looking for a way in. If you put the record player close enough to your ear you can hear it's paws bearing on the fragile dry leaves strewn about.

I’m tired of sitting up and keeping still, should I let it in? the mercy of a swift death seems appealing. When I tried to change the dressing on my leg, I found the wound turned into a foul green, the skin around it is a morbidly dark shade of grey. My skin feels hot, the infection doubtless have traveled well into my bloodstream, my mind feel groggy and I can hardly resist the urge to sleep.