The Notebook Of John Smith

A man with no memory of anything awakens on a remote island, where everything seems perfectly suited to his desires.

This morning I awoke in a strange location, surrounded by objects I knew the name of, but not the origins. I was lying on the sandy shore of a beach, cool water lapping at my feet, warm sun shining down on my skin.
I climbed to my knees, noticing no stiffness in my joints and no pain in my bones. However I had come to arrive on this shore, it hadn't been through violence or aggression. Was I from a shipwreck? Was I even still alive?
My clothes were simple and plain, but undamaged. They were loose-fitting and comfortable for the warmth of the island, and I saw I wore no shoes.
I had no name that I knew of, and knew naught of my appearance. I knelt at the edge of the shore to see my reflection in the ocean, and saw nothing truly remarkable, but at least I knew my own face.
When I had awoken, there was a notebook and a pen in reach of my hands. After taking a brief glance through the book, I saw it was entirely empty, and elected to use it as a journal for my experiences on this island. I titled it 'The Notebook Of John Smith', as such a name was better than any other for a man in my position.
I noticed there were no feelings of unease, and assumed that, for whatever reason I was here, it could not be anything dangerous. I had realised quickly I was on an island, and yet I knew nothing of anything. My name, my circumstances, anything.
I took to exploring the island, and found it was rich in fruit and clean water sources. There were no dangerous animals as far as I could see, no foul insects and no vicious creatures to terrorise me. There were some birds of course, but none dangerous. They seemed perfectly pleasant.
I set about putting together a camp-site for myself, threshing large leaves to a wooden frame, and binding it all together with string, to create a shelter for the night. Once this was complete, I turned my attention towards preparing a camp-fire of some kind.
I realised while doing all of this that I had no idea how I had accumulated this knowledge. I seemed to know a great many things, and yet so little at the same time.
I sat in front of my warm fire as the night fell, reflecting on this. I possibly had some form of amnesia, but I felt no pain in my head. On the contrary, I felt incredibly relaxed.
I felt like I had strained and struggled for so long, and at last I could rest easy. In thinking this, I laid back in my shelter, and felt sleep overtake me.

* * *

I woke the next morning feeling utterly refreshed and rejuvenated. I got up, and saw my fire had burned itself out safely, and so I took to exploring more of the island. In a strange way, no matter where I went, I seemed to know exactly where I was at all times. Never did I feel lost, confused or scared… although I did feel hungry.
I walked for some few minutes, and found yet another bushel of freshly ripe fruit. I picked myself a particularly shiny orange, and after removing the skin, took a bite. It tasted perfect, full of juice and sweetness. I finished it quickly, and continued my walking.
After covering most of the island I returned to my camp, having not seen another single life-form besides some birds and the plants.
I wondered at first on my safety, but felt the thoughts pushed from my mind. I had food, I had heat, I had shelter, what more could I ever require?
In a strange way I didn't even want company. I had an island paradise to myself. I was king of my domain, and had no superior or inferior. Robinson Crusoe had Friday… I had nothing, and everything at the same time.
As the sun began to set I went for a walk across the shore I had first awoken on the previous day, and sat upon the sandy bank, watching the sun lower itself through the sky.
I had never seen a more beautiful sight than the golden-pink sunset, the warm colours reflecting against the dark blue waves which surrounded my island home.
I took out my journal and pen (which didn't seem to be running out of ink any time soon) and began to make some idle scribbles. My survival required such little work, it felt good to have some time to think.
Without even realising it, I had drawn something. I looked at my notebook, and saw I had drawn a three-dimensional cube, with another cube inside of it. It felt familiar… but I put the thought out of my head, and focused on enjoying myself.
After all, the island no doubt had more to discover tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. What did it matter who I was, or where I was? I was happy, and it seemed like a new sensation, but one I wouldn't let go of any time soon.

* * *

From outside the cube, two scientists had been monitoring it’s activity.
“Is he safe in there?” The first asked.
“It would appear so.” The second replied. “He isn’t likely to commit suicide any time soon, at any rate.”
“Well, I can see why. The man’s trapped himself in a never-ending paradise.” The first said.
“That’s the thing though…” The second responded. “Is it really paradise, if you’ve nothing to work towards?”
“I think a better way of looking at it,” The first countered. “Is that this is his reward for working so hard all his life. Wouldn't you say so?”
Inside the cube, the man who knew himself only as John Smith smiled. He was at peace. After a life of hard-work, stress, pain and misery, he was finally happy.