He knew that he wasn´t alone on that planet and that, certainly, the objects were so similar to the ones from Earth. It was twenty-seven days after his ship crashed. No. It was twenty-seven days since he was awake. His watch stopped working but, considering the dried blood in his clothes and wounds, it seemed that it was more time.
He took a pallet from the water and left it at the beach for some days. Of course, he had already tried to escape, but the sea, which was always calm, swallowed all his boat attempts.
Another morning he saw two more wood pieces that were perfect for his nocturnal bonfires. He put them with the pallet and went for a swim; he needed to have his mind occupied and tire his body in other to be able to sleep at night.
A piece of cloth appeared in the afternoon, a perfect piece for a sailing boat. He didn´t have anything better to do so he built it with the pieces the sea had given to him. He went sailing. He didn´t take anything. He didn´t say goodbye to the stone from where was looking at the sunset every evening. He didn´t touch for the last time the shadow that looked like he. His confidence in being floating with those wood pieces for more than two minutes was null.
The two minutes turned into four. Then it was ten, twenty, forty... and when he realised, there wasn´t an island to get back.
He lost track of time after discovering that there wasn´t just one sun, but two.
He didn´t see the land. He just crushed with it. There were people. Many people. No one was surprised by him coming from the sea, some even asked him how could he arrived otherwise if not from the sea.
And then he saw them. His parents. The ones he had buried eight years ago. No, he wasn´t dreaming. He was dead. There. He was alive. Here.
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