Day 6 to day 15

Day 6. The most overwhelming feeling of joy and relief comes when I spy a small stream making its way through this wooded area and out to the sea. I scramble down the hill ignoring every pain that is arching through me. I fall to my knees and throw my hands into the water cupping them to lift the precious liquid up to my mouth. I drink as a madman would. Massive gulps, water dribbling down my face and onto my neck and chest. At this moment tt feels better than anything I have felt before

Day 7. I lie back. My stomach bloated by the water I have drunk so quickly. Suddenly, and without warning I vomit the clear liquid back up. I am astonished by the action and amused by the moment of becoming a human fountain. As the last drop leaves my lips I am bending back down to the stream to refill. The cool water stings my cracked lips.

Day 8. All I have thought about since I woke up on the beach has been my need for water. Now that my thirst is sated real thoughts come crashing into my head. How has my mind blocked out the boat accident. As I relive the moment I jump up as I remember my wife and the children. Oh god, what has happened to them. I break down in tears, the first hurt so much as they break through my dry tear ducts. The subsequent tears hurt more as I know I may have lost everything I love.

Day 9. Despite the pain in my body I know I must look for my family. I drink more water and then stumble back to the beach I woke on. If I was washed up on there then perhaps I will find the others. As I break through the tree line I can see the golden sands and the waves lapping the edge. I scan along the beach but nothing catches my eye. I must search properly by walking along from the rocky outcrop on the left right to the to the cliffs on the right

Day 10. I have searched the whole of the beach and they are nowhere to be seen. I have managed to collect some bits and pieces that were washed onto the shore. I have some food and, fortunately, some drinks which means I will have bottles to fill allowing me to explore other beaches either side of mine. The saddest find was a duffle bag filled with the children’s clothes. I didn’t think my heart could hurt any more.

Day 11. I have packed the duffle bag with some food and bottles of water and I am going to set off. I have to find them as they will be looking for me. I have given up shouting as the noise from the waves and the wind means I cannot hear any replies if there are any. I have decided to head left as the rocks there look easier to climb. The sun is beating down on me and I am conscious of not adding to my burns and slipping back into the sickness of sunburn. I will try to take shelter where I can

Day 12. Beyond the rocks are a series of bays. They will take a time to explore properly. This terrain is not as friendly as the beautiful beach I was swept ashore on. The tide comes right in and covers what little sand there is so there is no chance of footprints helping me. I will have to time my looking with the water going out to give me the maximum opportunity to explore and to not get caught by the water. The rocks are rouge and jagged. I can only hope that they weren't driven against them

Day 13. I have done six bays and there is no sign of them. I have managed to salvage more objects washed up from the boat. Some are too big to carry with me but I have lifted them out of the tidal area and left piles that I can go back to. More sadness overwhelms me as clothes are part of the things I find and every one has a memory for me. I lift my spirits by realizing that as long as there are finds from the boat I am still in an area where they could have been washed ashore.

Day 14. After examining all the rocky bays I have progressed to another sandy beach. This is easier to search but as I do I began to realise that they could have well left the beach and gone inland much as I did. I am looking across the sand and then going to the edge where it joins the grass and trees. I am hoping to find footprints or some other tell tale sign that they have left the beach for safety

Day 15. I found some biscuits and bread by the edge of a trail. I could see no footsteps but I dived into the woods with my heart full of hope. After about fifty metres I was frozen by the sound of screeching behind me. I turned with hope only to see gulls were fighting over the food. As I looked down to the beach I could see others scavenging amongst the opened packets from the boat. I realised that the gulls had been responsible and once again all hope is washed away by the cry of a bird.

Day 16. I can’t stop looking but each day that goes by eats into my hope. It is possible that there are other islands and they are safe there. My heart wants that to be true. I don’t care if they are not here with me as long as they are safe. I must keep looking though. There is still a chance that they are either on one of the beaches or have moved inland. I will need to stock up again on food and water soon but I have enough to keep going for now.

Day 17. I have no sense how big this island is, or indeed if it is an island. All I know is that I will keep looking until I find them. They are my everything. Without them there seems little point so I must find them. Watching the sea I can begin to see the flow of the waves. I have replenished my food and water and have decided to go in the other direction over the cliffs.

Jam

The dried crust that had developed between the glass and the lid meant that the jar was impossible to open. The strain on his fingers and wrist was captured in the pained expression on his face which was screwed up as tight as the lid to the jar.

Why he had suddenly decided he wanted a strawberry jam sandwich he didn’t know but once the idea had formed in his head it was all he wanted, all he desired. Comfort food on a day when he needed comfort.

He had cut two perfect slices from a loaf of crusty bread he had bought fresh the day before. Being a day old he was able to slice the bread easily and with a perfect edge. A triumph of carving.

He had spread the butter with a care he rarely displayed in any other aspect of his life. Each face of the bread had a perfect thickness, the butter lapping to the edges of the crust but not over. They sat displayed on the breadboard, beautiful golden yellow butterfly wings awaiting the red that would lift them skywards to his mouth.

But the lid would not budge. Anger began to rise within him. He put the jar down and checked the cupboard and fridge in the desperate hope that a second jar might be hiding. He saw peanut butter, marmite, even raspberry jam but his heart and mind were set on strawberry and anything else would turn to ash in his mouth.

Suddenly he remembered about running the jar under hot water. The tap in his kitchen took ages to run hot so he boiled what little water was left in the kettle and placed the jar in the sink. After he had emptied the boiling water over the crusted lid he lifted up the jar and began to wrestle again.

Steaming hot water ran from the lid over his fingers and scalded the tips. The jar slipped from his fingers and fell in endless slow motion the distance from his waist to the concrete tiled floor.

The sound of shattering glass was deafening, the feeling of loss and frustration all consuming. The bread sat there as a taunting reminder of his crushed dream.

It was the final straw after a long day of bad straws. He knew this camels back was broken.

He bent down and picked up one of the largest shards of glass. He smiled at the fact that its edges were already red.  

Day 301 to Day 5 - what's going on

Day 301. There is an awful noise and then the film stops. No more sound, no more pictures. I have tears running down my face. I remember something. Then a smell. I turn to the projector to see the film jammed in the spool and the heat from the bulb has lit it. Flames are dancing around the celluloid and the heat in this small room is overwhelming. The smell is pungent but it is the heat that is last thing I remember as I slide down the wall and fall to the floor.

Day 1. As I open my eyes I am conscious of pain all over my body. I try to move but my body is too stiff. The light has burnt my eyes and I cannot see anything but feint shapes. I push my hands down to try to lift myself but they burn as they touch the ground. And what is it I am feeling. It slips through my fingers. My ears gradually become accustomed to the pulsing sound of waves. I am on a beach.

Day 2. As my eyes begin to recover I can see why I am in so much pain. My skin is both bruised and burnt. I have no idea how long I have been lying here and I have no idea where ‘here’ is. I only know that I am desperately thirsty and I must get out of this burning sun. I roll over onto to my stomach and start to crawl up the beach. Each time my palm touches the sand it stings and burns.

Day 3. I have no idea how long it took to find shelter under the trees but finally the suns rays are blocked. After what feels like an eternity for my limbs to stop shaking and to get my breath back from the exertion I can begin to inspect my body in the shade. The sun has certainly taken its toll and my skin has burnt badly. The sunstroke is probably the reason for my sickness and lightheadedness but it is the massive bruising and deep scratches that are hard to understand.

Day 4. I have rested, partly through passing out for long periods. I can move a little better but every effort means shooting pains through my body. I will have to force myself to move as I must find water. The relentless pounding of the waves is a constant reminder of my thirst and a constant frustration that it is seawater. My lips have split and feel like sandpaper as my tongue rubs against them. The dryness in my mouth is dominating everything.

Day 5. By using a tree I have been able to stand. My legs are weak and it is only through holding onto rocks and branches that I am able to make any progress. I am making my way inland in the hope of finding some water supply. As the sun begins to dive down to the sea the air becomes noticeably colder. I realise that all I am thinking about is water. The desperation of need limits the mind to a single objective – survival.

Where do the Days go 292 - 300

Day 292. I thread the leading edge of the film through the last of the projector rollers and connect the end to the spare spool wiping off the dust at the same time. The end of the film has writing on it in a chinograph pencil. It says ‘The Holiday’. I step back and look at the path the film is running. The first part mirrors the other projector the last section is my guesswork. I reach forward and turn on the motor. There is a pause and then the film begins to run through the machine and onto the spool. It turn it off and let out a sigh of relief. Now to see if the bulb works

Day 293. I flick the switch that is in the same position on this projector as lit the bulb on the other. Once again there is ghastly pause that feels never ending until a feint light begins to illuminate the filament of the bulb. I shut the cover and then remember the film must be moving or the heat from the lamp with ignite it. I flick the switch and the spools begin to move. Into the darkness of the cinema comes a flickering light and a sense of times past.

Day 294. The screen if filled with grey frames as scratches of white dance across them. It is like a giant animated Jackson Pollack and my heart sores/ The silence is pressing and it makes me think that their might be sound. I look around the projector but can see nothing. Over on the wall is a switch that has the image of His Masters Voice. I turn it and a low hum fills the projection box. Suddenly the screen is filled with wobbly script writing – ‘The Holiday’

Day 295. The black and white text gives way to the strange soft colours of 1960's film. Somehow they seem unfocused and bleed into each other. There is no dialogue just the sound of what I presume is the waves. The opening shot is of an empty beach. It is quite beautiful with a rocky outcrop to the far left. Slowly the camera begins to pan across the panorama and the true beauty of the sea is revealed.

Day 296. The film picks out three people playing on a beach. As the camera begins to close on them it becomes clear that they are two children with who I presume to be their mother. They are playing on the edge of the water and are clearly having a wonderful time. I can hear laughter which gets louder as the hand held camera get nearer. Suddenly they turn and are shouting “Daddy, are you filming this?”

Day 297. I find tears rolling down my face. I know these people but I can’t bring them to my mind. They children are shouting for their Daddy to join in with their games. Suddenly the film changes its angle. The beach is now seen from the sea. It is beautiful and deserted but hard to watch as the camera is unsteady

Day 298. As the camera turn from the sea and shore to the boat I see the children and their mother laughing again. Suddenly the mother stands up and walks toward the camera. She is truly beautiful and once again I have the strange feeling that something is calling at me. She leans forwards and takes the camera. The next few moments are shots of the deck and other parts of the boat until she finally turns it onto the previously unseen cameraman.

Day 299. I am rocked backwards. It is as if a dam has burst in my mind. I cannot cope with the rush of emotions. The man I see on the big screen gurning at the camera is ……. Me. Crashing against the sides of my head is the reawakened knowledge that this is my family. That this is my holiday. What has happened?

Day 300. On the screen I am so happy but in reality I am broken. I don’t remember being on a boat, I don’t remember any of it but there I am. On the screen I hear one of the children shouting “Daddy, Daddy look.” The camera moves round rapidly and there caught in the shot is the prow of a massive ship bearing down on us. We are truly tiny by comparison. The camera is dropped to the deck and the film becomes dark as I hear screaming.