Help, I’m a Real Castaway, and I’ve Wandered Onto the Set of CBS’s “Survivor”
Woe is me! I am Thomas Henwood, midshipman first class of His Majesty’s Royal Navy and lone survivor of the ill-fated HMS Pembroke. The sorry vessel having run aground in the waters of the Pacific, this be a true account of my marooning off the coast of Fiji…
DAY 54
Hello. Is anyone out there? If you receive this missive, I am in dire need of assistance. When last we checked our instruments, before the summer squall splintered our ship asunder, our heading was approximately 17°40’S 177°05’E. For the last month, I have subsisted off seaweed and hermit crabs. Nourishment is so scarce that, God forgive me, I considered desecrating corpses of fallen crewmates and eating their flesh as jerky.
Then, this morning, a chiseled man with a safari shirt and dimples deep as the Mariana Trench emerged from the jungle. “Come on in,” he beckoned. Now I’m balancing ping pong balls and completing slide puzzles for a chance at scraps of food. And something called Apple Bees, which sound horrifying.
DAY 56
Who is this omnipotent chieftain? Be he a man at all? The other castaways insist he has not aged in decades. An immortal? Could this Probst be the very same trickster god that the other sailors whispered about in the wee hours of night? Davy Jones himself? I shall investigate further.
DAY 59
Every few nights, we are forced into a sinister ritual for his amusement known as “tribal council,” in which our most private feelings are laid bare. At every possible occasion, I vote for myself to be sent home and pray for such deliverance. Unfortunately, at each ballot, I am thwarted… The members of the tribe deem me unworthy (Sienna says I’m a “goat” and that she’s taking me all the way).
DAY 63
How I yearn to see your face again, sweet Emma! Your belly was swollen with child when the HMS Pembroke embarked from dear old London. By my reckoning, our son is now two years of age. I hope with all my heart that I live long enough to regale him with the tale of the time I helped blindside Devin after he stole rice from Aisha.
DAY 68
What devilry is this? That puppet master Probst descended on our beach riding a small skiff propelled on its own accord! His visit, apparently, represents a most egregious violation of protocol.
Caroline’s grandmother has taken ill, and she is to be removed from the island immediately. That was an option this whole time? My little sister nearly succumbed to scarlet fever, my father is riddled with hookworms, and I am still recovering from that bout of scurvy. Unfortunately, my objections fall on deaf ears.
DAY 71
Sienna and Eli are clearly romantically entangled, despite their protestations to the contrary. Lust has blinded them to the realities of our plight! The other castaways are now eager to send one of them away. I concur with their urgency—such attachments out of wedlock are quite unseemly.
I am not surprised by this tryst, as everyone here feels content to wander about in their undergarments. Meanwhile, every morning I don my stockings, breeches, waistcoat, jacket, cape, buckled shoes, powdered wig, and tricorne hat.
Also, for some reason, no one wants to discuss strategy with me at the water well.
DAY 75
Aha! Today I discovered a token while bushwhacking, a magical relic discarded by the ancient inhabitants of the island. Perhaps fortune finally favors this lost soul!
DAY 76
Alas, I have been deceived. The idol was merely a facsimile. Coby manufactured the artifact in order to make an ass of me, and now I shall seek my gentlemanly revenge.
Reader, if you find this message in a bottle, I beseech you, send rescue! Jeffrey Probst greatly desires that I eat three writhing maggots in under a minute, or else I shant receive a letter from my ailing mother.