by John D Robinson
After four nightmarish days and four hellish nights, we spotted land.
A jolt of energy manifested itself within our tired beaten bodies and we began paddling wildly towards this promising land. We were thirty survivors, nine children amongst us, in two small lifeboats.
We could see that the land, the beach, was crowded with people, wealthy sun worshippers. Soon they saw us; they pointed and screamed at us. We waved back and cried out for help.
Moments later four armed security guards approached us aboard a power boat. We were ecstatic, we yelled, we wept, our voices were hoarse but joyous. We relayed our story to the security guards of how the yacht sank and how we had been adrift for four days and four nights. We were hungry, cold and exhausted; we were weak and some of us were sick and needed attention urgently.
The guards laughed as they levelled their automatic weapons upon us. They informed us that the beach was private property; a private island and that we were unsettling the patrons. If we continued to approach the island we would be seen as trespassers and we would be putting ourselves at very serious risk of harm.
The privacy of the island and its patrons would be protected at whatever cost. Kindly, the guards then advised us to head twenty miles along the coast where we will find a public beach to save our sorry souls. They wished us luck but kept their weapons aimed on us.
Crying in disbelief, we turned around and paddled hard as we could.
Based on a news story