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Picture this: a cruise ship going through a tropical depression. It's a fine day today, with nothing but a few clouds in the sky. Out of nowhere, a rogue wave hit. The ship was flipped and thrown ashore. Only twenty survived the wreckage. They were extremely disoriented as they woke up hungry and unsure exactly where they were.

Soon after all the people became aware of their situation, they started to build a village using the remaining supplies they could scavenge from the ship (or the pieces that washed up, anyway). The same night they named a leader. That leader was an expert survivalist. He showed them how to forage the fruit from the trees and plants for when they were to run out of supplies.

With this knowledge, the village thrived for about twelve years, growing in size from twenty to thirty-eight people. Then something strange happened; an eerie mist covered the island for three days. Not one of the survivors was alarmed, as fog was not uncommon in this region of the world. Though, when the mist rose, the village leader had disappeared. And, even stranger yet, the island was flourishing with more fruit than ever.

They were, of course, worried about the leader, so they searched for him. Oh, how they searched, but to no avail. The villagers soon grew tired, and they ate. After an hour long break to catch their breaths and eat, the villagers then resumed the search, once again to find no one. Eventually, they came to the conclusion that their leader had died. Whether it be an accident or suicide, they agreed he would never return.

The next morning, they noticed that two of the villagers were missing. In a panic, the others began to search thoroughly, much more so than when searching for their leader. They searched and searched, only to find nobody once more. They again gave up the search after an exhausting three day hunt.

As the weeks went by, more and more villagers disappeared. Soon, there was but one man left. This man was not the only one to yearn to be within a mainland civilization, as most of everyone did. Even those who had been born on the island and heard only stories of great concrete shelters, reaching endlessly into the sky. Stories of great flying machines, capable of carrying more people than the children had ever seen, around the Earth. Stories of wonderful people that could move many generations with not just their words, but their beliefs.

The children had a hard time believing this, as all they had ever known was but three kilometers long, with an infinite blue plain to accompany it.

This last man was beginning to get hungry. He went out into the jungle with a spear in his hand to hunt for a meal. His diet consisted of mostly meats. Unlike the others, he ate much fewer fruits, as he had never really liked fruits that much. The others would usually have meals comprised of mostly fruit, with a few pieces of fish here and there.

The man walks through the jungle at a steady pace, in one direction, as if he knows exactly where the best game is. Soon, he comes to a large circular clearing, with a dark dirt-sand mixture acting as the ground. Other than the occasional few blades of grass, there was no life in the circle.

He finds you, lying in the center of the clearing, unconscious. He nudges you with the butt of his spear. You wake up slowly, but stay on the ground. Your head is throbbing. Thoughts are barely beginning to come into focus, but the one you hear most clearly is your throat and mouth screaming for water.

The man walks over to you, and kneels down onto one knee. He hunches his back and brings his face next to yours.

He smiles, and in a whisper, he asks you, "Would you like to join paradise?"