Stranded: Day 1

I have awoken to find myself in a strange land. A land where I seem to find myself alone, yet strangely there are other beings present. These “beings” are much smaller than I, and “their ways” are not always civilized. I fear I am significantly outnumbered. I have counted a total of four, and sometimes five of the “regulars”, yet (at various times and places throughout the day) it seems that their numbers are bolstered with other “recruits” and I have counted as many as seven at one time. I find “their ways” strange and bizarre, yet I am oddly attracted to monitor “their” activities. It would almost seem that without some intervention on my part, these “beings” would end up killing themselves at some point, much like the children in William Golding’s novel “The Lord of the Flies”.

I do my best to remain hidden from “them“. For the sake of my own sanity I spend much of my day feebly attempting to monitor “their” activity without much interference. Alas - these “beings” are cunning and skillful. “They” have successfully thwarted any and all of my attempts to conceal myself. “They” will find me no matter where I hide.

As an example, yesterday I attempted to hide behind a noisy machine that seemed to trim the local vegetation. You would think that the noise alone would frighten “them” off, or at the very least discourage “them” from contact, (as I could not hear anything), yet “they” each found a way to approach me (separately - one at a time - about 3 minutes apart - and one of them even brought one of the “recruits” with him) making some indications to me that "they" were hungry. I shooed “them” off in an attempt to forage for “their own" food.

Some time later I was able to uncover the location of “their” feast. I was able to identify the location of the “feeding frenzy” by the telltale sings of a ransacked clearing, and significant debris left behind in an area I like to call “The Kitchen”. I think in the future, I will have to do better at providing “pre-established” feeding times, and maybe even having some food prepared for them. Clean up took much effort and time on my part.

After cleaning up the “feeding frenzy” I came upon some sort of “message” that three of “them” seem to have created. The message they were sending was “prepare for battle”. I am not sure if “they” are anticipating some sort of invasion, or if this was intended as a warning message for me to stay away, but the message was clear. This was all about some sort of battle preparation.

I quickly documented this finding (by photographs - displayed above), and fled the scene for my own safety. Whilst in hiding I started hearing the telltale sounds of a “significant battle”. I realized then that “they” had intended to battle amongst "themselves". There were the obvious sounds of flying objects, the shouts of victory, and the tears (literally) of defeat. After the battle had ended, I returned to the scene expecting to find the remnants of a messy battle, but I was shocked to discover that “they” had cleaned the “battlefield” after having finished the skirmish! I was very pleased to see this, as these little “creatures” are notorious for leaving messes after everything they do, and everywhere they go!

I don’t know how long I will be stranded in this strange land. I fear this could last as long as three months before I am rescued. I have sent for help, but the “S.S. School” is months out, and I have no way of getting any help sooner. I will attempt to leave behind this journal, in the event that these “beings” end up taking over. It is my desire that in the event that I “never return” someone will learn something from my experiences.

Until next time (if there will be a next time)…


  1. I have analyzed your photos of the battlefield and find that the Lincoln log wielders seemed extremely well organized and fortified, yet the army men possessed the far superior Lego-cannon technology.

    Do you know who prevailed?

  2. Battlefield analysis demonstrated that without sufficient "concealment and cover" the army men (and their advanced Lego-cannons) could not keep up with the sheer numbers of "boots on the ground" that the Lincoln Log wielders enjoyed.


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