I had a dream recently about being stranded on a deserted tropical island, a la Lost. Really, though, it was just like an accidental vacation, so possibly not all that much like Lost. Like Lost without all the stress and murder and extremely convoluted allegories. So Gilligan’s Island.
It really got me thinking about what it would actually be like to crash on an island and have to adjust to island life there. For one thing, it would be terrifying. I think there would definitely be a lot of panicking. I can see that. On the other hand, I think Lost really skipped over some very practical issues that would come from being abruptly thrown into the situation.
For one thing, no one can exist on that much fruit, and only fruit, and not experience some kind of gastrointestinal problem. That’s an awful lot of roughage to suddenly intake on a frequent basis, especially when you don’t have access to indoor plumbing and you have forty-seven new friends who are all experiencing the same problem.
I’m also not convinced the whole “let me build a tent out of these leaves and this seaweed” would actually be that effective. I suppose maybe if you happened to be stranded with someone who’s an expert on vegetation engineering or an Uber Boy Scout. I, on the other hand, know that there would be little chance of me being capable of building my own shelter out of leaves. I have trouble putting up tents.
Beyond the homelessness and the extreme and abrupt intake of fiber, I assume the disease would be rampant. If you were on a flight back to America, where you live, I’m assuming you haven’t taken all the necessary boosters and vaccines to actually be in the tropics. Someone’s getting malaria or maybe a tape worm and don’t you even pretend to think otherwise.
~ Hilary Lyon Axle Hatchet