Meh.

I wake up, and feel the shock of realization hit me like a brick wall. It was a dream. At first I feel hope leap up inside me, as I wonder: was it all a dream? 
But then the dark world settles into focus and I glance around. I'm still here. The campfire is down to nothing but embers and the waves are slippetty-sliding up on the sand with noises like whispers. The solitude is like a black blanket, oppressive and heavy. 
I think back on the dream and wonder why I was running away from the lights and the shouts of people searching for me. After all, such a situation is all I've been hoping for for eight days. But it's not here yet. In the dream, I jumped, but in reality, I'm still just the ghost of a plane passenger. To the world, the real search party, I'm already dead.