Lost

All I remember was the small airplane scraping against the desert sands, then the giant fireball that people must have been able to see for miles. When I climbed out of the wreck, I looked at the pilot who was bleeding and not moving. He was either dead or unconscious. The heat of the fire and the sun combined for an unbearable burning, and the sand glittered in the late afternoon sun. We were deep into the Sahara Desert with nothing but a gallon of water and a few cookies from lunch. I knew if I wanted to survive I'd have to act quickly. There was a lot that could kill me, but no poison from the snakes could kill me faster than the strong summer sun or the below freezing nights. So assuming the pilot was dead, I started to walk in hope of near rescue. I walked for about a mile when the sun went down. It switched from summer to winter in about 20 minutes. With no shelter from the mind-numbing cold, I simply wrapped myself in my thin sweatshirt and laid down hoping to get at least some sleep. When it was finally morning it heated up instantly. Not surprisingly, I got no sleep. I took a couple sips of water and a bite of a cookie and I was off again. About noon I saw my chance to get out: a Jeep in the distance. I went running like a cheetah after its prey. But yelling and waving my arms didn't stop it from driving into the distance. I walked for six more hours when I had no more food and water. I was as tired and sick as could be, and I wasn't able to take another step. I laid there for hours when I felt certain I was going to die. Then I heard the blades of a helicopter coming in my direction. When it finally landed next to me, I passed out.

By,

Tyler Schiumo