Blaire walked out of the shell of the yacht, quite finished with her meager pineapple portions.

Her previously elaborate red dress was now a tinge faded, and tattered like a rag. It clung to her body fiercely, and she decided to keep it – hopefully she’d find somewhere to wash it.

The afternoon sun was high in the sky, and Blaire set her estimates at around one or two o’clock PM.

She found several useful things – one was an extremely sharp piece of metal, twisted off from the yacht; it could serve as a knife, and she quickly thought up a way to make it safe to handle.

Blaire found a sturdy stick jutting out of the sand, and decided it would be a good handle.

But what to tie it with?

Quickly, she surveyed the plants lining the beach, and her eyes soon found the quarry she was searching for.

Blaire strode up to the coconut tree, and rammed herself against it, ducking for cover as the fruits came raining down

She picked one up, and sat, Indian style on the ground.

This was going to be hard.