Ahhhh! One nice vacation on my own island. Couldn't be more happy. Until...it happens. And there's only one thing that can save me: a large box of paper.
SPLASH! Joe shoved the small raft in the darkening water, constantly scanning the sky awaiting the downpour. The mere sight of the dark clouds made him cringe, the thought of him becoming lost all over again if he didn't leave quick enough. This small rush of adrenaline rushed through him, as if electricity was coursing from his mind to the tips of his fingers. The raft slid faster off the edge of the sandy shore, as if racing the storm. Joe struggled, but finally pulled his scarily skinny body aboard the vine-strapped wooden raft.
Oops! Această imagine nu respectă Ghidul de Conținut. Pentru a continua publicarea, te rugăm să înlături imaginea sau să încarci o altă imagine.
The raft's sail was fashioned from the cardboard box that the mountains of paper had originated from. Joe just hoped and prayed that it would hold. Vines didn't have much leverage in the sense of lightning and thousands of pounds of fallen rain. And from its dry wooden platform, Joe looked up, judging the time before the swirling cloud of doom arrived. The raft finally slid off the sand bank, and started to float faster and faster, picking up speed that paled in comparison to the speed of the wind. Joe grabbed the oar, stabbed it in the water, and frantically, with all of his drained might, he paddled. And paddled. And paddled. Then, it finally caught up with him. Joe hadn't looked back on the island, for he had to speed ahead of the storm. But now, as the first water droplets started to pour down, he'd wish he'd still have been on the island as he looked back at the now disappearing Palm trees and the fading beach. Joe now took the sail, tied it down with vines, and hid under it, praying to God to help.
