The days meld together. The seawater at the bottom of the raft irritate the blisters on your feet. Overhead the sun burns through clothes, hair, and even the skin, it seems, reddening the interior flesh, dehydrating the body, beating the head into oblivion. Occasionally, you glimpse the sea. Implacable, it rolls for miles around you, oblivious of your need to exist.
The island jumps closer. When you look up again, the trees are now clearly distinguishable. The black volcanic rocks jut from the shore.
It is a small island, a Pluto of the sea, empty of people.
The beach ahead is pristine; it seems like a paradise. Waves lap at the shore, birds swoop overhead.