No man is an island, part 3

For Harold, the Island was starting to lose its appeal. Certainly, the alluring palm trees still waved seductively in the wind, and the crabs danced dances of titillation and excitement. But overall, Harold missed his home.

 A gentle breeze carried itself across the beach, listlessly caressing the ragged remains of Harold's shoes. "Maude", the breeze seemed to whisper.

 Well, though Harold, I think that was her name. Maude. He'd been married, he thought. Or she'd been at the bus-stop. Either way, his missed her hair, coloured in a particular fashion as it had been, and also her face, which had probably been very pretty, or at least lacked hair in the right places.

 Yes, he thought happily. She'd have never stood for this kind of thing. Kept a clean house, Maude probably did. No sand around the place. Yes, beautiful as the island was, Harold (Oh fuck, I've just noticed the names are 'Harold and Maude', Like that film. I wasn't going for that. I was just thinking of Maude Flanders. Like any young man. Well, I'm too lazy to use another name. Let's just plough on).

 Yes, though Harold. The Island was beautiful. But he'd trade it all for Maude, just to see her again. He missed her more than anything.

 A gentle current stroked its way up the beach. Harold leaned back in the sand, and wondered if he'd actually been gay. Yes, that seemed familiar. The sun beat down on him from on high. Sadly, Harold wondered who Maude was. She could have been his hairdresser, now he thought about it.

 Islands aren't fun, kids.

Harold the hungry caterpillar

Harold was a very hungry little caterpillar. He was so hungry in fact, that he crawled out onto a plant in Mr. Jones' vegetable patch, even though his mother had warned him not to.
Unfortunately, Mr. Jones was also very hungry - and quite insane - and ate poor Harold. His insides became fuzzy, and he died soon after.

If I'd bothered to illustrate this, it would be deeply disturbing.

No Man is an Island, Part 2

Yes, Harold thought to himself, life on the island wasn't so bad after all.
It was a pity about the crushing loneliness though.

No man is an Island

All in all, the situation could have been a lot worse for Harold. Of course, he was still stuck on the desert island, but the weather was nice, and the plane wreck would keep him in supplies for another 6 or so months: plenty of time for him to get the edible tropical bug farm up and running.

At first, he had been a little despondent when his boat had sunk, leaving him marooned on the small island. He had carried out the standard, cliched actions - building a big fire, writing "help" in rocks, and searching for a single local who he could name ridiculously - but to no avail. However, after exploring the island, he found it had fresh water, and at least some edible plants and the like. Then had come the plane crash:
He had seen the plain trailing through the sky, and ran to start a fire. Unfortunately, the plane seemed to be in a spot of bother, and crashed into the ocean nearby. Harold had swam out to exploer, but it seemed the crew had parachuted out of the plane earlier. However, he found some rations, which broke up the monotony of eating coconuts, and crate after crate of sweat pants.
They were also rather tasty.