Shaun pulled a cleanly folded note from the front pocket of his vest; which was likely to be the only thing on the man that wasn’t already disheveled. Upon unfolding it, there were a few scribbles scattered about the note. It contained his thoughts or memories that had been collected over the past couple years. A way to hold onto his sanity. From his other pocket, came a pen that he soon used to add another scribble.

I returned to the island. Again. I don’t know why I keep coming back here. I don’t even know why, after 717 days, I keep trying. Maybe I’m trying to prove that I simply can. Or show that I can make a difference. But to who? Everyone I know is long gone. Or simply missing. 

After hastily scribbling out that small piece of knowledge with handwriting that likely wouldn’t be able to be read by anyone other than himself, the man folded up the paper once more and tucked it back into the safety of his pocket before moving on with his daily routine for survival.