As our boat reached the shore, there was a loud cheer from the passengers. It had been a long voyage, at times turbulent, but in the end it had proved worthwhile. We were finally here, at Island 473E.
I stood alone at the stern gazing eastward, from where we’d embarked ten days before at the Port of Miami. Now the urban legend had become truth: Florida was sinking into the ocean.
The government was quick to respond to the oceanographers’ dire prognosis—every Florida resident was given a choice, a plane ticket to another state OR a passage on The Royal Steward to a government-controlled island in the Pacific.
It was uninhabited. The weather was temperate, the island having a moderately high altitude. The brochures they sent me showed beautiful mountains side by side with cascading waterfalls. Looking at those pictures, how could I possibly say no to such paradise?
My family wasn’t pleased with my choice. They had opted to move to Colorado. I opted to have a fresh start, a new beginning. Where nobody knew who I was. Where I could become something different – the real me.