The doctor once told me that memories are like photographs, with everyday that passes their brightness fades away into a tea stained brown, the sides begin to crumble and the picture that was once so clear, wears away until there is nothing left but a memory of a memory. The only way to keep them alive is to retell them to others, and keep the picture fresh in your mind.
That is why I'm sitting here right now, with the professor's old journal in hand, and the moist sea breeze mixed with the smell of David's cooking wafting through the air. Memories are all I have left, and I won't let them fade into nothing, I will keep them alive for as long as I live.

I will not bore you with the details of how I first arrived on the island right now, for it is a long tale and there is only around one hour of sunlight left. But I will say this much; I was innocent, I denied it from the start and I will deny it again, I am not a murderer.
I didn't deserve to be here as much as an innocent child, and that I was at the time; not fifteen when I first arrived, discarded like any everyday piece of rubbish. Shoved away where no one could see me, but from a distance, on this island, this "prison."
The picture I have of the time I first arrived here is still fresh; I can still see the ship, my last piece of civilization, as it drifted away from the shores of my new home.