#island

There's a name tattooed on the inside of my left wrist.

May, 1689 Josiah’s boots christened against the granulated sand as he hopped off the launch raft. His head shot upward, taking in the sight once again. The beach was peppered with large palm trees, each either gray or brown. In the distance, he could see the various mountains peeking over the tips of the jungle foliage ahead. It was a wall of trees and bushes, and Josiah knew it would be a challenge to navigate through.

L-3 About 10 miles off the shores of Galveston, Texas, lies Grandiosia Isle: 300,000 acres of swamp, mountain, jungle, and thick pine forest. It has endured a lot—a blizzard during the early 1200s, hurricanes, earthquakes, tsunamis, and in 1875 a forest fire scorched the entire island, rendering it uninhabitable for some time. As a result, the island was nearly devoid of forest life, except for creatures capable of flight, until 1994 when deer and such were reintroduced onto the island.

The man's mind was a blank slate, a void where the memory of how he came to be stranded on this small island should have been. He had woken on the shore, his body battered and bleeding, with the ghostly echo of an incessant beeping ringing in his ears. When he closed his eyes, he saw flashes of fire and twisted metal, but the meaning behind these fragmented visions eluded him.