At first, I thought I was rescued.

Even with my eyes closed, I felt the loss of my carapace. The dirt and muck, the hair that became an oily hat stuck to my head, was no longer there. The beard that had a chance to grow for the first time. My protection and my camouflage were suddenly gone.

You don't get used to being unwashed a good while after your plane crashes, but I personally started to appreciate it. I mean, you see it on TV, African tribesmen going hunting in nothing but the optional loincloths; but let me tell you, the white man has considerably more trouble blending in the wild.

The crash was really confusing at first. I was upside down, still buckled into my seat but it didn't take long for me to realize what happened and that it sucked big time. I've imagined myself in a scenario like this when listening to news reports. With my comfortable, civilized life smothering me from all sides, I'd fantasize that being stuck alone on a deserted island would turn me into such a beast! I would

believe that I would manage to make the best of the impossible and survive like the Scouts' Association instruction manuals are printed on my soul. I found out that I knew little about keeping myself alive without all the smothering.

My name is Haru Thompson. I'm a 41-year-old store manager that was on his way to Tornia, a village in the middle of the Italian Apennines. Back home, I have a cat named Susan and she likes to play/mutilate my arms when I give her attention. I made it out of a plane crash with minor injuries and somehow survived 3 weeks awaiting rescue; oh, and I think I just got abducted by aliens.