Jem’s feet pressed into the cold, hard sand. He watched the sun inch down gloriously behind the clouds. He would watch daily until he could no longer stand upright, or use the steps.
He’d built the steps years ago, when he’d first landed. Tore his little dinghy apart, used the boards and nails. The steps were rickety, but kept him out of the way of the daily tides. Using the tools from the boat, he’d erected a shelter of sorts. Hunted for food. Found fresh water.
Over time, he learned there is no loneliness like forever alone.