Life in an abandoned island is lonely, stressful, and like paradise. How I ended up here is traumatic. On a Wednesday school summer night, I climbed out my window to go night surfing. I was going alone because there was drama in my friend group, and that I needed to be alone just for my mental health. I brought my phone with me, but when I made it to the cold sand I was going to take a picture of the beautiful night sky. But I tried turning it on and it was dead. I didn’t want to go back to my house because I was afraid that I wasn’t going to be able to come back, or worse, get in trouble. I left my phone in the sand, along with my towel covering it so it wouldn’t get stolen. I grabbed my board, and set off into the ocean. I was so tired, I drifted off to sleep. Then I just landed up here on what I call “Paradise Island” I walked all across my island over four-hundred times out of boredom. My island had a shore with crashing waves, rocks for sand, green palm trees, and my very own poor built tree house where I sleep. There were no animals here, so I had nothing to eat. So I made my own spear out of rock and palm tree leaves. I would dive into the ocean, and catch small tropical fish such as colors of greens, blues, oranges, reds, and even purples. Seagulls, gulls, and even pelicans would fly or land here and leave once they heard the loud waves crashing. Life here in my island can be scary, fun, outrageous, and beautiful. Just don’t fall asleep on your surfboard like I did.