Chapter 11 the forest man
Jack stood on the high cliff and looked at the ocean. The wind blew through his long, messy hair. He was not wearing silk shirts anymore. He wore a simple tunic made from the skin of a deer he had found. His feet were bare, and the skin on his soles was as thick as leather. He did not need shoes. He did not need a watch. He knew exactly what time it was by looking at the position of the sun.
He was no longer a stranger on the island. He was part of the forest.
Jack’s morning started before the sun was even fully up. He did not have an alarm clock, but the birds in the trees woke him up. He crawled out of his bed made of dry grass inside the cave. He felt strong. His muscles were hard from climbing trees and carrying wood every day.
He picked up his wooden spear. It was just a long, straight branch, but he had rubbed the tip against a stone for hours until it was as sharp as a needle. He didn't use a metal tip anymore. He didn't need it.
He walked into the jungle. He moved silently. A few months ago, he would have tripped over every root and snapped every twig. Now, he moved like a shadow. He watched a small forest goat near a stream. Jack stayed very still. He didn't even breathe loudly. He waited for the right moment, then—thwack—the spear flew through the air.
He had his food for the day. He didn't feel happy about the kill, but he felt respect. "Thank you," he whispered to the forest. He took only what he needed to stay alive.
Jack’s life was very simple now. He didn't have a TV or a phone, so he spent his time making things better. He had made a small table out of a flat rock. He had carved bowls out of coconut shells.
He had learned how to keep a fire going all day and night. He used a thick log that burned very slowly. If the fire went out, he knew he could start it again by rubbing two sticks together. It was hard work, but he was good at it now.
The cave was his fortress. When the heavy tropical rain fell outside, Jack sat inside by his warm fire. He listened to the rain hitting the leaves. He felt safe. He felt like he finally had a real home.
One afternoon, Jack decided to explore the far side of the mountain. He had never been that far because he used to be afraid. But now, he was curious. He climbed over big rocks and pushed through thick vines.
He found a hidden valley that was full of fruit trees he had never seen before. There were big, purple fruits that tasted like honey. He also found a beautiful waterfall that fell into a deep, blue pool.
Jack took off his deer-skin tunic and jumped into the water. Splash! The water was cold and fresh. He swam around, laughing to himself. He realized that this island was not a prison. It was a playground. He was 18 years old, and he was having the biggest adventure of his life.
When the sun went down, Jack went back to his cave. He cooked a piece of meat over the fire. For dessert, he ate the sweet purple fruit he found in the valley.
He took out his handmade wooden flute. He sat at the mouth of the cave and played a slow, peaceful song. The music floated out into the dark forest. Sometimes, the birds would chirp back to him, as if they were singing along.
He looked up at the stars. They were so bright and clear. In New York, he could never see the stars because of the city lights. Here, the sky was full of them. He felt small, but he also felt important. He was the only human being for hundreds of miles, and he was doing just fine.
Jack lay down on his grass bed. He thought about his old life. He remembered his soft bed and his video games. They felt like they belonged to a different person. That Jack was a boy who was afraid of the world. This Jack was a man who lived with the world.
He didn't have gold. He didn't have machines. He had a spear, a cave, and a fire. He was happy. He was healthy. He was alive.
As he closed his eyes, he heard the sound of the waves hitting the beach far below. It was like a heartbeat. Jack smiled and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. He was home.
