The Shack Creative Writing

The man opens his eyes. He didn't know where he was or what his name was. He was a tall man about 6.1, and he had a blond crew cut covered in sand. His eyes were emerald green and had a confused look in them, like they were lost. His clothing was damp from the ocean. His shirt was white and pants where tan. He looked around the beach he was on, noticing every rock and tree. The beach seem to be in a crescent shape bay. He tried but he couldn't remember what happened. He obviously washed ashore, seeing his damp clothing, but where was he. The man got up and headed for the tree line leading further into this mysterious island.

The trees grew thicker and turn from Palm tree to... Something strange. They seemed to be nothing he's ever seen. As he stumbled through the dens jungle, he stumbled upon a shack. The wood looked old and faded, the floor was lifted of the ground with a little plank leading to the doorway. The man cautiously stepped into the shack.

There were papers cluttered on tables that looked ready to collapse. Maps randomly nailed to the wall, a chest full of trinkets and tools. In the back of the shack there was a make shift bed. The blankets thrown across the matrices stained and aged. On the back wall was a door that looked like it was broken and poorly. He stepped out the door and into the back of the shack. On the ground was a tomb stone that was broken and mossy, the writing on it was very faded. He could barely make out the writing, this is what he read, "Here lie Ca*#*in Jack Sp>r~w" this must be the resident of the house. Thought the name was the most damaged and some letters were