Creative Writing: Treasure Island

“Dan? Daniel?”
He huffed in response.
“You still awake?”
“Unfortunately,” he mumbled. She mulled over her next words carefully.
“I know you think we should leave on the raft as soon as possible. I really think we should stay.” He didn’t say anything. “Out at sea, we could float in circles and never get to land. Here, someone could stumble upon us and get us off this island.” Still, he said nothing, and this time, neither did she. She didn’t realize how softly she had been breathing until he responded.
“The raft has always been a part of the plan. I don’t know why you’re deciding to stir shit up now. Nobody is coming for us here. End of discussion.”
Claire hissed, “This is not the end of discussion. It was never my idea to build the raft. It was Jerry’s! But when you guys wanted to build one, I wasn’t going to not pull my weight. Honestly,

When she found what she was looking for, she made her way back to the raft. By then the thunder had grown louder, and Claire stood atop the raft, looking down at her calloused hands to see herself holding her knife, a stick, and her bow drill. She looked up to see the waves surge and grow larger, reminded her of a video she saw of a crabbing vessel toppling over due to a rogue wave in the stormy Pacific. Waves can get up to ninety feet high in the open ocean. Claire hadn’t felt her legs buckle beneath her, and she began carving a hole into the middle of the raft, just big enough to wedge the tip of the stick in. She saw her arms moving, but could not feel them, as if she were having an out of body experience. Still she watched her hands take the bow drill, press down on the stick with the flat side of her knife, and begin to drill. Her mind was numb, and the wind whipped against her skin as she continued to drill into the raft. Soon enough, smoke appeared from beneath the stick and began to thicken. The embers came alive, and Claire stopped her hands, regaining