Thank you to one of my blog followers, Dale Syfert, for his story. Dale wrote this little tale in response to my request for tales about the islands. As promised, I am posting his story. Nice microfiction, Dale. Thanks for sending.
by Dale Syfert
The crunch as the wing of the downed aircraft washed onto the beach startled its passenger from his stupor. That the white sand and arc of coconut palms meant he would not drown crept into his awareness. A drink or two of water stored in the palms slaked his thirst. He slept.
With sunrise he began to explore the island. A concrete runway punctuated by tufts of tropical grass and a weather-worn building abandoned after some forgotten battle, sat near its center. In the far, dark corner of the hangar sat an aging Piper Cub, its fuel tank nearly full. Now if the engine would start . . . if only the engine would start. If only. It was worth the chance.
Throttle open. Mixture rich. Magneto on. Spin the prop . . once . . twice . . three times. Cough. Sputter. The engine caught roughly at first, then purred. Pull the chocks. Jump in. Start the take off roll. Pull back on the stick and yes. Yes!!
Clearing the palms he turned the plane in the direction of home. He flew until there was only vast blue ocean. One hour down; perhaps two, maybe three to go . . .
Cough. Sputter. Clunk! The propeller froze. He adjusted the trim and began the glide downward. There! Just on the horizon a clear arc of white sand and coconut palms! Behind them an abandoned airstrip!
With a little luck he could make the beach.