Comfort on a lonely island /lord of the flies/

1

I shook him, I shook his cold, soaked body until my arms were sore and I realised there was nothing left to do once his breath left his body.
It was 4 o'clock on a Sunday, mid July. The ocean looked like a merky swimming pool that covered the distance in an ongoing sheet. The captain, my mothers family friend, had been dead for 6 hours. All I could do was count the time on my watch that glistened on my tan left wrist.

I was on my way home to my father, while mother remained elsewhere for business trips. She said is was only a few days by sea and that her friend would take care of me. If lying dead on the top deck was caring, I'd rather have no more. His body was crushed by a heavy rod, hooked above him, that he accidentally budged. It crashed down, smashing beer crates and him in the process. Rather disastrous really, but nothing more can be done now.
...

I couldn't take it anymore. Drifting for 5 days straight, little supplies left, I had to take action.
A cool breeze passed over my face, my bronzed skin taking on full warmth, my toes over the edge, I jumped in. Don't worry, it was only a couple feet and there was a wooden boat the size of a small car to catch my weight.

By nightfall I fell asleep, gazing at the sky, wishing for something better. My lungs filled with constellations, I could breathe stars.

I awoke in sudden motion. I freaked out, grabbing for the oars as they frantically smashes against the ocean .Grey morose fog smoked out, blocking my views. The wood shattered and splintered. Cool water touched my skin, I was emerged and tried fighting, then it all went blank.