Water lapped over the edges of the makeshift raft. Chris clung desperately to the mast - a twisted branch held in place by the last of the electrical tape and rope. He rubbed seawater from his eyes, and stared up into the darkness, at the cliffs that lined his prison. He started paddling again.

The stone walls rose on either side of him, and then fell into the ocean, unable to give chase. He drifted out to sea.

A red glow lit up the sky. For the first time in months, he watched the sun rise. And smiled.

By Tom Wells. © 2011