A wealthy heiress who has never worked a day in her life suddenly finds herself trying to survive on an island after the cruise ship she was vacationing on sinks.

“Reginald! Reginald, where are you?” Cynthia, alone in the lifeboat, looked wildly around as panic found a home in her chest. She gripped the side of the wildly rocking boat with one hand while an empty bottle of Chateau Margaux occupied the other. Her face was pale green as she scanned the rolling waves surrounding her, the burning wreckage of the cruise ship illuminating the night like upturned spotlights.

She hadn’t always been the only one in the craft; there had, in fact, been two other women aboard when it had been lowered into the heaving water. A couple of kids, no more than eight or nine years old, had also tried to climb in but Cynthia had put a stop to them with two firm strikes of her then half-full wine bottle.

“We don’t want those little germ factories in our boat, loves,” she had assured her fellow passengers with an airy wave of her hand. “This is hardly the time to be getting sick, after all.”

They had argued against this logic rather fiercely, but by then it was too late - Cynthia had already ordered the crewman to do his ‘bloody job’ unless he wanted her to speak to his ‘bloody supervisor‘. It was not long after the hull touched water that one of the women declared she was going to attempt to reach another lifeboat that could be seen a few hundred meters away. Cynthia didn’t hear the reason why - she was too busy being shocked that her story about sleeping with a major movie star had been interrupted.

“The lack of manners some people display these days is just awful, isn’t it love?” she had told her remaining companion, her head tilted in the direction of the woman swimming away from them. “We’re better off without her, I am perfectly certain.”

It took another ten minutes before the second woman went overboard. Cynthia was fairly sure that it was because she had been unwilling to share the contents of her then quarter-full bottle with her.

“It’s like she had no idea how much these bloody things cost,” she had muttered with an incredulous shake of her head. “Besides, if she wanted a drink so badly she should have brought one with her to the lifeboats. You know, thought ahead. Like me.”

But then, the departure might have been for another reason. Cynthia couldn’t be sure - she really hadn’t been paying any attention to the woman. There had been a terrible tangle in her long, dyed blonde hair, after all.

“There you are Reginald!” she shouted when she finally spotted her butler floating face down in the water. “Reggie, this is no time to be looking for pretty fish, darling. Get over here and row this little boat for me. And won’t you be a dear and bring me another Margaux… a ‘95 if you can find it?”

But they were soon separated again, as two waves took them in opposite directions. After some careful thought, Cynthia decided it would be best for her to take a nap. Surely it was approaching midnight by that point and she needed her beauty sleep. As she stretched out on the bottom of the boat, she was convinced that by the time she rose from her slumber she would be surrounded by very attentive - and hopefully very attractive - rescuers.

Instead she woke to a strange, shifting weight on her legs, and the sun’s rays piercing her brain. She blinked several times before looking down to find the business end of a seagull staring back at her. Cynthia gasped in shock, startling the bird and causing it to defecate on her evening gown before taking flight.

“You bloody brute!” she shouted, bolting upright. She raised a fist at the fleeing bird but then the sudden movement caught up with her and she turned and emptied the contents of her stomach over the side of the boat. Which consisted mostly of wine and… well, more wine.

It took her a few moments to realize that the boat was no longer rocking.

“What in the…?” She raised her head, slowly, and squinted. It seemed unusually bright. Why were her rescuers dressed all in white? Was this some new fashion trend she’d not yet heard of?

She forced her eyes to open further as her brain pounded against her skull. Her eyes registered what they were taking in pretty quickly, but took their sweet time in relaying that information to her brain.

“Sand?” she croaked. But it was more than mere grains of sand. It was, in fact, a beach.

Cynthia eased herself up and looked around. The beach in front of her ran for at least a mile before disappearing around a curve, and the stretch behind her looked about the same. Thick jungle began about twenty paces from the shore, the trees looking down at her with scorn, taunting her with their well out of reach coconuts.

“Where is everyone?” she whimpered. “Reginald? Reggie! I need some bloody water!”

She stepped delicately over the side of the boat and onto the beach, her five inch heels immediately sinking into the sand. She cursed, quite loudly, before pulling her left foot free and taking a step, only to meet with the same result. It took another five steps before she gave up and removed the heels, choosing instead to carry them by their straps.

There was a lot of floaties and jetsons - Cynthia was positive that’s what all the wreckage and debris was officially called - washed up on the shore and floating in the shallows, so she began to look for something she would find useful. What, exactly, that might have been she could not have said. It took only a few minutes before she came across a metal box with glass on one side, with the words Open In Case Of Emergency blazoned across it.

“Well I should think this about fits the bill!” she declared, plucking it out of the sand. She was quite excited to find that its contents sloshed about as she carried it back to her boat. She used the empty Margaux to smash open the glass and then carefully extracted a bottle of…

The End

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