So I've been working on a certain character of mine recently, just because I do such things when I'm bored or when I can't exactly continue writing on an actual novel. Haha...yeah, procrastination. Anyway, I've started journaling from the point of view of such characters, so I think I might post a few of these entries just for fun.

(They look cooler actually written in fountain pen in a leather bound old journal...oh well)

3 D.O.H.

For sanity's sake, I shall refrain from addressing the month and year. Only the Ocean Mother can possibly know of such things anyway. Henceforth, time shall be kept daily, that is by the rise and fall of the sun. Each day shall be recorded in this battered log as D.O.H., or, to expound, Day of Hell. Aye, I shall not temper my language, for it is an accurate description, and any unlucky enough to glance upon this record shall not disagree.

I have been shipwrecked upon the foulest, lonliest isle in the Western Sea, with very little in my possession. Among such things, of which I shall give my honest record shortly, I wait upon this shore, forsaken and alone as the sun sinks into its ocean bed. Forgive my brevity (and penmanship), for the sky grows dim, and I am afraid that I do not yet have the means to provide other light. Thus, seeing that time is short, I shall make a hasty record of belongings that I have deemed useful and shall carry with me.

Among my possessions there are included:

3 Dead Fish -- washed ashore by the same hellborn storm that carried me here. Dried by the heat of the sun, they shall sustain me, though my stomach threatens to revolt against such meagre rations.

2 Firearms -- a flintlock pistol and a musket. One is broken, and both are unloaded. Perhaps soon I shall find gunpowder, though I fear it shall not be dry. Lead balls are rarer than gold here, for they will have sunk to the bottom of the ocean. I shall have to find ore and fashion my own if I can find the means. Hopefully I will not have need of their protection until then.

1 Dress Saber -- Not a proper tool of defense, and beginning to rust, but it shall do should I need a quick means of defending myself. I suppose it would be necessary for hunting, which seems to be my only means of sustaining myself for now.

4 Ship's Logs -- The Captain's logs from various ships, each damp, waterlogged, and indecipherable. I shall use their pages once they have dried to make my own record on.

1 Pen -- Broken, of course, and without ink. I have tied it to a small piece of driftwood and I now use my own blood as ink. There is plenty of that still flowing freely, though I have bandaged the worst of my wounds and am steadily returning to health, despite my meagre fare.

I have no more than this, save the very shirt on my back and tattered remains of my uniform, a reminder of what I have been so far removed from now. All about me I am able to see the broken remnants of ships scattered over the sands. Some of these pieces must surely belong to my own vessel. They reach like bleached bones out to the sea, pleading for release, as do I.

I have not yet stumbled upon my other companions. I fear they have not survived. Now night is falling, and I must end this log, for now.

Ever vigilant and faithful, I pray that the Mother Ocean may find merit in my plea and grant me freedom from this accursed Hell.

Humbly, diligently, obediently,

Servant of the Sea--

--James Shelley