<div style="text-align: center">The island, up to about sixty years ago, was uninhabited by anything other than wildlife. A tropical beach on all sides, clear water as far as the eye could see. Of course, that changed on the fateful day of June 16, 1963, when a passenger plane crashed onto the island. Many passengers died, but some survived, and after a few years, reproduced.<br/>
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The culture of the island isn’t like that which the passengers left behind. They wanted a society of openness and freedom, much of which surrounded sex. At first, they decreed that sex was a commonplace activity. People could simply grab whoever they wanted and do whatever they wanted. Monogamy was allowed but unusual.<br/>
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Some of the original passengers were against the new rules, and chose to leave their group and go to the other end of the island, where their only goal was to be rescued and return to their old lives. They failed, but, like the original group, continued to reproduce, their children continuing their goal and keeping their lives similar to the ones their parents left behind.<br/>
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Chase stared out at the people around him, squinting slightly in the brightness. The other group, the Traditionalists as his people called them, had been aggressive as of late, it was too dangerous to stray too far from camp. So most people were milling about, doing what they could. Some creating weapons, some mending their shelters, some fishing, some farming. A peaceful life.<br/>
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Chase’s family originated from the pilot of the plane, leading to them becoming the leaders of the ‘tribe.’ Personally, Chase thought that was a bit ridiculous. From what he understood, pilots flew the planes. Why elect the man who’d caused the crash to lead them? But they had, and sixty years later, Chase was in charge.<br/>
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The remainders of the plane had been recycled, for the most part. The metal was used in the older shelters, before they’d learned better ways to build, the seats had been turned into beds. Most of the clothes had been ruined, either by the crash or by time, so most of them wore what they could make. Chase wore pants made from the pelt of his first bear kill, and nothing else, as was common for the men.<br/>
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Evelyn had left camp that morning, and was about twenty feet up a tree, collecting fruit. They’d found seeds all around the island, and years of cultivating them had led to a large farm and orchard. As Evelyn was a good climber, she was usually the one to harvest the taller trees. From the top of the tree, she could see most of the island, including the other village, miles away. She could see the plumes of smoke from their bonfire, that they always had burning in the hopes of catching the attention of a plane to save them. Traditionalists. Just the thought of them made Evelyn scoff. Why would they want to leave the island? She’d heard stories of the old world, where people had ‘jobs’ that they spent hours every day at, buying food with ‘money.’ On the island, they shared, it was that simple. Some people traded supplies, but everyone had what they needed. It sounded like the original passengers of the plane that had brought them to their island had the right idea - fix the mistakes of the old world, make a new and improved version on the island.​</div>