Island

I write this story from a hut on an island in a lake in an island surrounded by a lake that is surrounded by none other than an island.  The final island is surrounded by the ocean.  I only tell you this to emphasize my isolation from the world.  There are three species of plants living here with me (they eat the sun, and sometimes flies), a lot of bugs: mostly biting flies (they eat me, and feed on frog blood), some frogs (they eat the flies; the flies sometimes eat the frog dung that is made up of flies for the most part, fucking cannibals).  I eat plants.  It is quite a tidy ecosystem.  Sometimes I introduce outlanders to the ecosystem by shooting birds or flying mammals (bats for the most part, sometimes when I am exceptionally lonely, and hallucinating on frog sweat, I pretend the bats are flying cows, but that doesn't count as a part of my ecosystem).  Before I stray too far from the subject of my island's ecosystem, let me not forget the mention of my gut flora.  They eat whatever I eat, and help me turn my food into shit.  My shit feeds fungi, which I forgot to mention earlier, but now I have.  I think that finalizes the food chain here on my island.  Let's get to the main subject of this story, how I got here.  I was the Captain of the once noble ship: the USS Wanderer.  We were a mighty crew of three.  Me, the cook: John Stark, and the first mate: Susan Leonard.  Let me describe each of them, how they died will be detailed later.  Me:  I was born to atheist missionaries, trying to spread the word of no God to the indigenous peoples of Outer Island, the outer island of the three earlier mentioned islands.  I was born because my Ma brought one year's worth of birth control on a two year mission (My Dad brought two year's worth of lust).  I was three months old by the time we had returned to the mainland.  They called me Nature's Blessing.  Short version was just Nature.  My folks both died about two weeks after we had returned from outer island.  Some sort of jungle fever caught up with 'em, the docs had never seen the like before.  On the mainland, one of the docs raised me.  She was an interesting lady, a German, real cold and calculating.  Taught me discipline and mathematics, but that was about it.  The rest I learned from John Stark and Susan Leonard.  They were both about ten years my elder, and fascinated by a strange kid with such a hippy name.  I was strange, cause my face was disfigured in the first three months of my life while I was still on Outer Island.  That place has a nasty ecosystem: Jungle cats, venomous snakes, large bearlike creatures with giant fangs, poisonous plants, and, yes, the fucking biting flies.  My face got melted by one of the nastier varieties of plant on that Hellhole.  An atheist missionary has an easy job of getting people to believe there ain't no god...