Emma Walters, September 21, 2009

My name is Emma Walters. I was born in Luddington, Texas. I was raised in Albany, New York, and I went to NYU, and Graduated at twenty. I am currently twenty one years old. I worked as a social media intern in Senator Obama’s failed presidential campaign last year, as my first job, followed by a short internship at The Atlantic. I am an aspiring political journalist. I am stranded on an island with four others, and this will serve as my diary. 

It’s been a long while since I kept a diary. High school, I think.

It’s weird to think about that all being so long ago. It’s been more than two weeks since I texted Henry, or my parents, so they’re probably really worried about me. So they can join the club, I am too. I’d let them know I was alive if my phone hadn’t died so fast. I would have tried at least, probably no signal here.

I miss my old flip phone. If someone finds this journal lying next to a skeleton wearing worn out crocs, I bet you those “smartphones” died out within 3 years, tops. Who cares about Myspace on the go if your battery doesn’t last a day. If I’m right, give my skeleton hand an epic high five. I know I'm wrong, though. I would die without my iPhone and lookie-here, already I'm picturing myself as a skeleton.

I was supposed to be nearly two weeks into settling into my new place with Henry in the East End of London. But that didn’t happen.

Instead, Flight 181 crashed on its way from New York to London, on September 5th, 2009. And somehow, flying near the arctic circle, we landed on a tropical island.

My parents warned me about how stupid long distance relationships were, and they were definitely wrong. Henry is the love my life, five years strong, and we made it work, even after he moved away to the UK, even with my crazy schedule.

But they were kind of right, too. I feel like this is some kind of sick joke.

See, my mom has this stupid way of being right about everything in any argument, and… She couldn’t have been right about this, but here I am, likely going to starve on an island in the middle of nowhere, full of weird animals I don’t remember learning about, all because I dated a boy over the internet.

You’re right mom. Happy? Can we call it all off now? Can I come home please? I’m sorry. I’m not really mad at you, mom, if you ever get to read this, I love you. I really do. And Dad, I love you too. And Sarah, Marshall, Tonya, all of you.

And you too, Henry. From the questions you were asking me, I could tell you were going to propose to me, dummy. I would have said yes. I would have said yes like five years ago, braces and all, and ran away with you in that beat-up Chevy you drove back then. I’m that stupid for you. And I always will be.

I’m well fed.
I have shelter.
I have company.

I’m okay. I need to sleep though.

I’m too tired to write anymore tonight, spearfishing really takes the wind out of my sails. Goodnight.

-Emma.