I’ve been marooned on this island for a week, living off fish and coconuts. My skin is beginning to turn the same hue and texture of my leather boots, and if I don’t find fresh water soon, I know my days are numbered. I’d been drinking out of rain puddles, but the skies have been cloudless for two days. My throat is so parched I can’t speak. Not like I can talk to anyone anyways, me being stuck on a deserted island and all.

I was in a shipwreck six days ago, one that claimed the life of my friend Henry. My other friend, my best mate, Ben, had died the day before the wreck, shot by the king’s guards. As I sat under a palm tree going over the chaotic events of the past week, a ship suddenly appeared in the horizon. I ran up to the shore and shot off my last remaining flare.

As it came closer, I could see its flag waving in the breeze. It was black and bore a skull and crossbones.

“Ahoy, matey! Looks like you’re in luck, boy.” I heard a voice call from the ship. A voice that sounded all too familiar…