The taste of salt filled the millionaire's mouth. An eye opening to burning light. Something unavoidable was the melting of his skin. Ryan looked down to his arms, blistering red and pink. The rubber of the raft stuck to his forearms and neck. A peeling occurred as he lifted his head up toward the north. To his disappointment, Ryan was still alive.
The ocean was so calm. Rolling of the waves was barely noticeable. The average sailor would look at the beautiful horizon, maybe with a beer in hand, and smile. Maybe that sailor would have a wife back home and kids waiting for his arrival. They would go to bed, the sailor reminiscing about where the ocean blue mixed with the red sunset.
The raft was small. It had a paddle attached to the side. That is it. Bland and orange. Ryan assessed his situation. The headache from the night before, or maybe the night before that, had blocked any thought process. A glass of water would have been crucial. Ryan reached his hand into the ocean, scooping up a good glug of water. He spit it out, not because of the overwhelming salty taste but because his sunburnt hand had kamikazed. A sharp sting ran through his palm as salt boiled on his skin.
That's when he saw it. Ryan started in the direction of the sun to see an outline of sorts. To be honest, he had no clue if it was real or not. Ryan sat down as slowly as he could to avoid tipping the raft. He shrugged his neck, followed by some satisfying pops. His eyes stayed peeled to the outline. It seemed only a few inches tall. Could be a boat. Maybe a rock. A shipment of beer and peaches is what Ryan dreamed.
He reached for the paddle, carefully timing the waves so he didn't destroy his hand. Ryan strides left to right, his throat dry, head rocking, skin burned. Being on the edge of possibly dying felt calming at times. Hearing the sound of waves splash on the edge of the raft was almost harmonizing to the pounding headache. Time actually flew by at an unexpected speed. Before Ryan knew it he saw what the outline was.
An island. Quite a large one in fact. The beach went on for what seemed like half a mile before turning out of sight. Once the raft hit sand, Ryan plopped out onto the ground. He struggled up and staggered under a palm tree. Strangely Ryan searched toward the ground for the tree's shadow to get out of the blazing sun, but it was not there. Clouds were rolling in so maybe Ryan's eyes were just messing with him.
He moved over to a rock and sat down. The cold surface felt nice on his ass, so he closed his eyes for a moment. That's when his finger rubbed against something. It moved with a clank, causing Ryan to jump up in shock. His eyes peered open, then his mouth, then his hand. There laid upon the rock, a can of peach and beside it, a bottle of Jack.