Yesterday was my marooned day- mark it on your calendar, for it may be hard for my castaway mind to remember. The prime mover of my being marooned is simple; my mind was not in the same frequency as my fellows. My cogent arguments and eloquence could not save the life worth a loaded gun, jar of water and bread. In two days, the owner of this island will put a bullet into his brain to avoid the hunger games.
To yesterday, I had found me a palm tree with shade and slept from dusk to dawn. The lullaby from my friends with wings made my first night memorable, my friend-mosquito came with his families, their songs and serving rate could not prevent my long night nap.
How could I have slept? Oblivious of my surrounding? I woke with a start, clearly making sense of the things I should have made effort to know first; my environment. Habituation should have been my first point of action, yet like others I slept. My memory swayed to home where people have neglected the utmost; with the spirit of laziness and procrastination, most of the dreams are 6foot under the feet. My friend at home is a footballer, for ten years he has been training on different weather conditions, braving himself for hard trials of football clubs. Not that he is a player with talent- the little he knows is developed from continual efforts. At 24, he is still dreaming of being a professional footballer- dreams die hard, really?
My stomach grunted at my inability to provide its food, but alas! The breads were covered with ants, with an unknown patience; I recovered the breads from its captors. The unanswered questions popped up again? How could I sleep in an environment like this? I stood up, clear my frond-bed, clean the environment and sat down feeling satisfied. The wind was blowing well, my body wept for joy and again, I slept. Feeling hungry, I woke up and the ants were back. I changed my environment.

I was lying down on my fronds, my mosquitoes was playing well and the body was a good host- entertaining and not complaining. There she arrived, the body carved naturally- a first class student of God might have been the sculptor. To my story, she came towards the lying man; I. Her cloth all revealing, a blouse that shows her complete bra, her nipples poking merrily from the busty chest. There I laid, she dropped something and bend to take, I was amazed at the details I could see without paying. This is the island I should be. My manliness was poking from underneath, could I hold it before she comes ? By heaven! Save me, should this seeds come before her, I will be in eternal damnation. And I did.
I woke with a start, a wet dream at this stage? The gods must be having a good time. Two days in the island and the body is living in a fantasy of a female.
If I ever made it out of here, the world would have turn to Adam and Eve era, the present world is a city of nudity where ladies roam the street revealing close assets in an open market. Mum said, "your body is the Lord's temple". Whatever she meant, no good man could be with these. Well, people like me could always enjoy a wet sleep.
Hunger sets in

Coo! Seems it's days you've abandoned this story...
I think it's high time you revived it... nice reading!