I knew we were headed to our deaths. Our raft was already half broken, and the storm never let up, day after day. But my uncle, like Captain Ahab, defied the gods! Almost willing them to do their worst!

I am writing this in the sand with my one good arm. Eventually the storm ended, and coughed me up on a beach. I have multiple injuries and will not live long. I knew this mad adventure would cost my life, and I get no pleasure in knowing I was right.

Goodbye, dear reader.

Be good.

And... don't go climbing down any volcanoes!


Or is there still hope?