Harry stood with his shoes deep in the sand, feeling the cold waves splash against his legs in rhythmic intervals. Though despite his freezing calves, he could not truly loathe it as much as usual. Other concerns were in this moment much more troublesome, he thought as he watched the tail end of the airplane sink into the ocean.

The burning carcass sinking was a cruel juxtaposition.

Harry grabbed his suitcase a little tighter, when it looked like nothing else had escaped. Passengers, cargo. He was all alone. It all came back as a cosmic blend of irony, when he earlier had wished for something like this to happen, just so he wouldn't have to attend the conference in San Francisco.

Life was Brutal. He knew that, though not through experience. His life had just been kind of dull. Even now having lived through the catastrophe, he had mainly just experienced a harrowing sense of unfamiliarity. All before was no longer a part of this world, and he remained lost in one of the world's most obscure locations. Distant from all his previously convinced realities.

Tearing himself back into the present, was difficult for a man who before this trip had only been accustomed to little more than filling spreadsheets in excel. However, at some point, he realized he had been standing for too long doing nothing.

He turned around, and fixed his eyes at the line of the shore. He slowly followed the curve with his gaze, until he realized he had turned around. Then he followed the line back around until he came to where he started.

It was indeed a small lonely island, and it was very, very round.

Luckily his reasoning was not completely wasted on his dumbfound moment. He had immediately recognized his own fortuitousness when he managed to save his luggage- and because he actually remembered to turn off his mobile phone before the flight, it still had full battery.

Harry loosened his tie and began walking up the beach. When he reached the top of the island, he took out his cellphone and phoned the emergency services.

He was immediately put through to a woman located somewhere else in the word.

"Hello, this is 911."

"Hello… uh, you're speaking with Harry Pomket. I think I'm stranded on some kind of island."

"Some kind of island… Can you be any more specific?"

Harry looked around again. The sun had passed for the evening, leaving the sky vacant except for vague bends of light, emanated from distant geographical navels. The solemn background empty from all distinct sign of familiarity as far as he could see, with the boundaries of the horizon existing in its own eternal void.

"It's just an island. A pretty small island. There's nothing to see except for the sea."

"There's nothing to see except for the C?"

"No. I'm stranded in the middle of it. No ships, no airplanes, no nothing-"

"Did you mean sea, like the water, Or is it a C like the letter?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You said; the only thing you could see, did you mean a C or the actual sea?"

"I meant the Pacific ocean. I have no idea what you're on about-"

"Oh, so that's what you meant. You see, Mr. Trumpet, when you said it like that, you can easily understand why it's confusing to me."

"What it are you talking about? Also the names Promket-"

"Oh, my mistake Mr. Promkit"

"Anyway, I'm stranded out here and need help."

"To get home?"

"Yes."

"From the island?"

"That's what I'm talking about."

"Alright, I see. It sure looks like you're in quite some trouble then. Unfortunately, due to an unexpected increase in general road accidents, quite rampant as of late, we will be unable to proceed a search team before next Thursday- "

"Next Thursday? How am I expected to know when that is! I'm not even sure what day it is today- "

"It's Tuesday today, Mr. Trumpet"

"Promket! What I'm supposed to do while you put that together? Die? This is unacceptable!"

"Sir, we sympathize with your situation, but it is just not possible for us to satisfy all. Please understand we are just trying to do your job."

"You're not supposed to TRY to do your job, you're supposed to do IT! That's why we pay you for it!"

"Now look here Mr. Trumpet-"

"AND for the last and final time, it's not Trumpet you stupid bitch! It's Promket!"

Harry knew, of course, that the barrier of discourse had escalated with those two words, and therefore accepted the dial tone with displeased indignation. If it was not her ineptitude to fault her work, it was not his temper to fault his conduct. As so, he stood by his vulgarity as he could do little more to combat the system's indifference.

It did not, however, diminish the residing anger he had been burdened. The feeling's inability to manifest itself vexed him deeply, and left him without any motives for mitigation. Any other which was not completely futile that is.

He threw his briefcase up in the air, and kicked it so violently it burst open. Every single paper stack, folder, file- all selections of the most precious company data Harry had organized flew out. A frantic white spectacle became a part of the sky, before drifting drown in messy dunes. Flat doves without bones, their wings useless.

Now the island was covered with what supposedly could be called his life work.

Harry was with only himself stuck in two equally bizarre scenarios. The one of the crashed plane, to which he was a survivor, and the one of being stranded on an island somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, to which he would likely die, before Thursday.

He sat down on a large nest of PR-speculations to gather his thoughts and rest his legs.

He could not get over just how verifiable the things he said were. It was the truth after all. He was indeed right in calling the situation unacceptable, for this was exactly what it was! Unacceptable.

Unacceptable for a man who paid his taxes. Unacceptable for a man who had paid for his ticket. Unacceptable for a man who had always obliged to society, only for society to throw away its own obligating's to him, in favor of some random sots on some other random place on the planet.

Now! He came here to do his job. He followed his orders and went underway as he should, but now he was stuck here as himself. Left to his own devices, as a mere person with no pretense of belonging anywhere. He was no longer controlled by the post-it notes his boss left at his desk, but by the greater sea and the winds- his inability to get anywhere. Commanded to stay by no one, yet could not go where he was supposed to.

Because the service that should have ensured his rescue did not work, it had likewise doomed his own function.

It would lead to his failure to comply with the requisition of his job. The whole California branch would be levied when they heard of this. He would not be there at the meeting, and what would they do then? Replace him, perhaps even before Thursday. There were no other consequences.

They would have to start over.

Wait to die of starvation or wait even longer and be without a job.

Life was both brutal and dull.

The late orange flare had withered off from the edge, now only existing as a thin luster on the waves. The air was getting colder. Harry only vaguely noted these changes as his thoughts became increasingly concerning, more concrete and tangible. His facial expression had made new discoveries to form elaborate corridors for his cogitation, so unprecedented in his mind as their obtuse halls founded unsolicited depths.

Harry felt all he had owned before was now gone, even though it hardly amounted to anything of much value. But now he had himself, and he was aware of it. The island was excluded from history, outside the jurisdiction of civilization. It was untainted, not even he could touch it, for he had come to share its exclusion. He was consumed by its loneliness and isolation like a sentenced exoneration.

He had nowhere to go, but at last, he was free to go wherever he pleased.

For a long time, Harry sat like this. The color of the sky changed several times, without him paying attention to any of the many nuances that passed above his head. Despite how beautiful the weather always was, even when thunder and hurricanes blended everything around him into a grotesque dimension of darkness. His focus could not encompass anything external. Even when the sun fried his skin or when the rain soaked his clothing, he paid it no attention.

He was undisturbed like so for three days- for the rescue party had already lost 24-hours trying to coordinate the mission.

So, it was one bright Friday morning a lone black helicopter cruised through the sky. Even having made all the calculations based on the lost planes projection, it was still difficult for the three men on board to locate the exact spot. To their eyes, the ocean seemed endless in repetition, so they had to rely on the radar equipment for the most part.

Finally, the small desolate island was spotted. The effort of landing on it took every ounce of the pilot's finely tuned know-how, but after 7 minutes of complete silence in the cockpit, the perfect landing had been achieved.

Two men exited the aircraft. They were careful to approach Harry, as he still seemed to dwell inside his mind. He was motionless staring into the distance, might as well have been dead, except for the fact he was breathing. A bizarre sight for a castaway to look this tranquil.

"Are you Harry?" One of the guys spoke.

Harry looked up. He looked around. He looked at the two guys and then the helicopter.

"We have come to take you back home." The other guy stated.

Harry then got up and spoke quite remarkably.

"You can't land here! You need an authority recognized admission clearance for vehicles either water, ground or air based- to enter the vicinity within this area."

Both the rescue workers were taken aback by this demand. The confidence in his voice seemed almost frightening paralleled to their own understanding.

"Which authority are you speaking of?" The same man who spoke first, now asked again.

"The authority that you were to ask for clearance, goes to the general planning committee that deals in the things and assets related to space and organizing of commodities over the weight of a 1000 kilograms. I'm not sure when you can get in touch with them, but most of the various committees have opening hours after lunch."

Harry spoke rather stable and monotone, considering the amount of information he could recite. For some reason this made the second rescue worker burst out into a fake high-pitched guffaw. The first guy was not even sure if he was now supposed to actually ask for clearance or not.

"So, do you want to come home? The helicopter is ready." The second rescue worker asked, as soon as his temperament had regained stability.

"No, I don't think I have made any necessary precautions to warrant any sort of extended leave for my present habitat, not any that goes beyond this island that is."

It seemed to be that Harry's words were the most hilarious anecdote for this rescue worker, as this caused him to roar into another even more unnatural laughter.

The other rescue worker just looked even more concerned now. He took a step closer to Harry, and asked him one final time.

"Are you serious Harry? You want to stay here?"

"Yes. Now, if you'll excuse me, it is almost lunchtime, and, not to be rude, I'll rather not have people bothering me while eating."

The second guy was already walking back to the helicopter, while the first one stood for a moment more and watched the strange man retract a lunchbox.

But there was nothing he could do about it. In the end, he just shook his head and walked away.

Harry took up a fresh pair of sandwiches, and quietly mumbled "looks like it's tuna today" before eating.

Dejected, the first guy quickly boarded the helicopter with the short order. "Head back, there's nothing here!"

The pilot obeyed swiftly. The rotor began to spin, first slowly but quickly accelerating.

The second guy took one last look back, and curiously remarked "Wait, where did he get that food from? I didn't see anything salvaged or preserved before!"

In response, the first guy promptly turned to him, and answered somewhat bitterly "Whatever. I honestly don't want to think about it anymore."

It did not take lone before they were gone from the island, gone from the sky and gone forever.

Harry then probably died at some point or another.