[TM] 194 - So thoroughly lost...
Exhaling James stared out along the horizon, shifting slightly in the seats that they had ripped from the fuselage during those first few days. Those first few days when they thought that this was just a temporary thing, back when hope and a little bit of luck was all they thought they needed to get rescued. Running his hand through his hair he knew how foolish it had become of them to think that this was as simple as a black box being found, or hell even a rescue raft floating down the right current of water. Still there was a part of him that wasn't going to let his mind break down to the point of actually considering this place home. It was enough for a casual comment to refer to it like it was some sanctuary from the rest of the jungle... but it was a far cry from the home he tried to find back on main land.
It was getting close to a hundred days on the island and he still felt like he never actually had survived the crash. Little pieces of what had gone on over the past month or so... seemed so far off the deep end that he was having a hard time swallowing it down. Monsters and smoke, and people dying for diamonds that they probably never would've been able to spend. Babies and kidnappings and drug trials... and torture. Compounds, cults, rumors and whispers in the jungle and all of it seemed more and more less real the longer they stayed there.
Deep down... he wanted to wake up. To blink his eyes back to reality and feel that relief that everything that happened... wasn't real. That the island and the people he met... the ones he fell for and the ones he just wished would leave him the hell alone.... just were in his mind. Some concussion induced dream from that asshole cop in Sydney pulling him too hard and fast into the cell. Anything but what was around him would be a welcome reprieve.
Instead though his thoughts wander to the realization that the longer they are here, the more days that pass them by... the less real they become to those back home. Names and faces... just a blur of words along the slow crawl at the bottom of a news feed. James knew that the definition of lost for them took new meaning the moment the rest of the world forgot all about Flight 815.
It was getting close to a hundred days on the island and he still felt like he never actually had survived the crash. Little pieces of what had gone on over the past month or so... seemed so far off the deep end that he was having a hard time swallowing it down. Monsters and smoke, and people dying for diamonds that they probably never would've been able to spend. Babies and kidnappings and drug trials... and torture. Compounds, cults, rumors and whispers in the jungle and all of it seemed more and more less real the longer they stayed there.
Deep down... he wanted to wake up. To blink his eyes back to reality and feel that relief that everything that happened... wasn't real. That the island and the people he met... the ones he fell for and the ones he just wished would leave him the hell alone.... just were in his mind. Some concussion induced dream from that asshole cop in Sydney pulling him too hard and fast into the cell. Anything but what was around him would be a welcome reprieve.
Instead though his thoughts wander to the realization that the longer they are here, the more days that pass them by... the less real they become to those back home. Names and faces... just a blur of words along the slow crawl at the bottom of a news feed. James knew that the definition of lost for them took new meaning the moment the rest of the world forgot all about Flight 815.