Island madness

Captain’s Journal

Somewhere around 13 September 2015

Day 75

Still no sign of rescue. Supplies are running dangerously low. Have been reduced to organic grapefruit juice with vodka only. And that wicked shiraz. Oh Lord. Why do you torment me so? First Mate increasingly unstable. I fear for my safety in every moment. Have retreated to a small cave on the cliff. The booby traps are brutally efficient, but somehow she manages to escape their lethal message every time. She is more cunning than she looks. 

Alex: What are you doing?

Adam: What? Nothing.

Alex: You’re writing my blog again aren’t you?

Adam: No.

Alex: You ARE!

Adam: Maybe.

This is our last week at camp. Probably a good thing. Adam has been pretending that we are trapped on a desert island and taken to setting up what he calls ‘booby traps’ around the place. The latest one is a hole in the ground, camouflaged with branches across the top. I have sprained my foot quite badly, but refuse to acknowledge that it hurts. I do not want to encourage him. As soon as we get back to Broome I will have it seen to. Hopefully then, I can also get the tar and feathers out of my hair.

Alex: Adam, did you put a large lump of coal in my pocket?

Adam: ….no.

Captain’s Journal

Day 76

I can avoid the truth no longer. The tourists have been disappearing one by one. I have found fragments of bone in her hair. First Mate is becoming homicidally insane. She has been devising elaborate and increasingly bizarre moon light rituals and has taken to wearing necklaces of dried meat. Initial tests have indicated they are HUMAN remains. I have observed her dragging her sorry arse along the ground. Turns out it was some random German’s arse. She has also been rummaging around in my secret supplies of coal, slipping those little humanity-saving nuggets of black gold into her pockets, then feigning surprise when I catch her out. I will continue to watch her very closely. Thought I saw a rescue ship on the horizon today, but it was only a boat load of Germans fleeing persecution at the campsite. I also have new reasons to believe First Mate may be an agent of the rascal Captain Abbott who remains at large. I am not at liberty to reveal those reasons just yet. I suspect she is reading my private journals. Sometimes I imagine I can feel her hot breath on my neck. 

Alex: You can’t write that.

Adam. Sweetheart. Darling. This is private.

Today I stood in a noose, hidden under some leaves, and then a bucket of water fell on my head. I don’t know where Adam is.

Alex: Adam!

Adam: (quietly) heh heh heh.

Alex: Stop throwing snakes at me!

Adam: heh heh.

Day 77

The situation is quite desperate now. I am down to my last ten cases of rum. Have not had so much as a morsel to eat for what seems like weeks but may be closer to two hours. I am afraid that First Mate’s descent into madness is now complete. She has taken up with a band of white jacketed blaggards and they have surrounded my hideout. They have left a trail of minibar bottles of spirits leading to an enormous pit filled with blue water (poorly disguised as an ocean) in an attempt to trap me. But they shall have me not so easily. No! I can see through their plans. The remaining campers have all gone now. Eaten I suspect.

Alex: Adam! This blog was meant to be a joint writing effort, a celebration of the creative bond we have forged and the literary works that have been born out of our bush experience…

Adam: But I want to write a desert island homicide mystery

Alex: …a victory against the elements! Battles won and lost on the edge of a cliff! How we’ve managed to push through, as a team, stronger and wiser and…

Adam: But I’ve already set the story up

Alex: It’s ridiculous

Adam: You’re ridiculous

Alex: You are

Adam: You are

Alex: Stop chewing on my meat necklace!

Adam: How did you get out of those ropes anyway? 

First Mate: I’m more cunning than you think. (whips off face mask.)

Adam: Captain Abbott! What the?

First Mate/Captain Abbott: Take his arms men!

Adam: Curse you Captain Abbott! 

First Mate/Captain Abbott: We have made contact with the mainland. A relief vessel will be here in seven days.* When we return you will be tried for crimes against sobriety and affray causing literary deprivations. Maybe next time you’ll think twice about taking on the mighty captain Abbott! Mwah ha ha ha ha!

Adam: Alex, its not funny any more. You’re scaring me. 

Alex: Quiet fool. While I sharpen my quill.

* Our time here is nearly at an end. One more week.