It happened slowly and quickly all at once. One second you are in a plane, being told to put the seatbelt back on, and next, you are being dragged out of the water by a stranger with a gash on your abdomen.

You were not sure how you did it, but it hurt like a bitch.

"Deep breaths," the man helping you said, panting, after running back and forth trying to aid every injured person.

Destruction was everyone. Parts of the plane were sprawled throughout the beach. A woman was screaming, you couldn't tell where from. Others shouted for help, panicked, while the lucky ones who didn't get hurt jumped into action to reach them.

He sat you down on the sand, and while you were still hazy and confused and dizzy, he shouted at someone to bring him water. He fixed you there, and you learned his name was Jack. He had told you rescue was coming soon.

But it didn't come. At all.

And days passed by, even months. The island wasn't as bad as you thought, although some mysteries you had encountered still worried you. Otherwise, life was quite peaceful.

You were helping organizing the food in your makeshift kitchen, when Jack passed by, adjusting his backpack.

"I'm gonna get some more water," he said. "You good there?"