The Lost Island Short Story

The Lost Island
In the middle of the Pacific, a Cargo boat, just as long as a train with a wagon, got defeated by the treacherous waves and its engines died. Its 30 hopeless crew members were then lost without any sort of access to any kinds of technology. Three arduous days passed and just as their old supplies began to rot and come to an end, the same waves that brought them to disgrace now brought them to an Island. The very fruitful Island had provided them with a quite huge amount of fruits and animal flesh, as well as with a good source of drinkable water. Making a temporary living there didn't seem like much trouble, for the dense green vegetation and the clear water didn't present any threat at all to 30 fully grown up men.

The leaders still hoped they would someday return to their homes, however, their lack of vision led them to focus on ensuring a good life on the island rather than focusing on how to get out. They surely weren't going to let other elections take place. Why would they risk that tasty feeling of being in command? The different branches of the government no longer could be distinguished. They had united with the purpose of sustaining a few people above the others. The riots were contained through the use of fear. One would be killed as a warning to the others. The oppression soon built a system where the proletariat worked to get food and other resources to the governors and in exchange hunger and people brought to an end both their hopes and their lives. The people wouldn't live much more. The unforgiving sun didn't allow humans to survive such long periods of thirst and hunger. They were gradually dying but still the leaders weren't willing to cede their privileges to make others live. Nothing was done, due to the thought of invincibility by the governors, that were now dictators. As a result they were the only ones left, the workers