Raphael Crusoe

I cannot recall my family. A vague memory of siblings shadows my mind, but I cannot put names to faces. A long tumbling journey, blackness, and now I find myself in a habitable but strange place.

It must be morning. The sun above me has made that recurring odd snapping noise just before shining. I think I shall stay under this rock for a while longer, hiding from the unwavering warm rays. My dreams are a haven of sorts, a single escapism. Plop, plop, plopplopplop... the pellets have appeared again! Odd, but I never have to hunt for food, it just appears.

Nice to see algae growing again, a nice green contrast to the ever-present brown terrain. Not for long, though. It never lasts more than a few days, before I am forcibly moved to some foreign place, and returned to a newly arranged environment. The rocks and gravely ground are familiar, but in a different pattern each time. My confused mind is still puzzling over this phenomenon, but for now, I am content that the process is cyclical, but not dangerous.

Today, I will renew my search for others of my kind. I have not found another inhabitant in this rocky place. Once, I did spy a struggling insect, who having gotten too wet to fly, met with a watery grave. He was gone with the next algae-washing. Surely, I cannot be the only living thing in this crazy universe? Physically, I am growing stronger with every passing day. I can swim further, climb taller, and finish my explorations much faster.

It is lonely here, very lonely. I often hear odd noises, and occasionally something - a cloud? - looms overhead. I think I can detect mysterious voices, but the words are strange, alien. I fear I may be experiencing a slow deterioration of my cognitive senses. There is no explanation for my existence, no hint of my past. Tomorrow still holds the promise of discovery, a chance encounter of some similar species. Surely, I cannot be the only red-eared slider in this world?