My skin is as old, dry and worn as the hull of the ship that wrecked us here. My mind, though, is sharp as a tack.
I remember days gone by. I remember the people stranded with me. The boy who passed the time by graffiti-ing the hull; the doctor fixing our bodies and our minds; the hunters and gatherers, the gardeners, the chefs, the cleaners, the builders.
We all had our jobs. Everyone was necessary. Everyone was vital.
I was the inventor, I came up with ways to do things that others would carry out. I was charged with making life easier and I was charged with finding a way to get us all home.
But none of us were very good farmers. Or so great at rationing our natural resources.
They say necessity is the mother of invention. Once it was clear we were too many for the local flora and fauna, my hunger became the greatest necessity. I came up with a tool that would kill silently, smothering and slicing as one. I had recently learned to butcher.
Once my hunger was sated, I started to find a simpler solution to get me home.
Written for Flash! Friday from the following picture prompt (we were also asked to add a Fire Element (include an inventor) or Ice Element (include a conspiracy theorist)) and had a word count limit of 200 Words, with no minimum.
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