Journal of a marooned sailor

Yesterday was my marooned day- mark it on your calendar, for it may be hard for my castaway mind to remember. The prime mover of my being marooned is simple; my mind was not in the same frequency as my fellows. My cogent arguments and eloquence could not save the life worth a loaded gun, jar of water and bread. In two days, the owner of this island will put a bullet into his brain to avoid the hunger games.
To yesterday, I had found me a palm tree with shade and slept from dusk to dawn. The lullaby from my friends with wings made my first night memorable, my friend-mosquito came with his families, their songs and serving rate could not prevent my long night nap.
How could I have slept? Oblivious of my surrounding? I woke with a start, clearly making sense of the things I should have made effort to know first; my environment. Habituation should have been my first point of action, yet like others I slept. My memory swayed to home where people have neglected the utmost; with the spirit of laziness and procrastination, most of the dreams are 6foot under the feet.  My friend at home is a footballer, for ten years he has been training on different weather conditions, braving himself for hard trials of football clubs. Not that he is a player with talent- the little he knows is developed from continual efforts. At 24, he is still dreaming of being a professional footballer- dreams die hard, really?
My stomach grunted at my inability to provide its food, but alas! The breads were covered with ants, with an unknown patience; I recovered the breads from its captors. The unanswered questions popped up again? How could I sleep in an environment like this? I stood up, clear my frond-bed, clean the environment and sat down feeling satisfied. The wind was blowing well, my body wept for joy and again, I slept. Feeling hungry, I woke up and the ants were back. I changed my environment.