(no subject)
When Chase realized the date, he left for the beach at first light. He didn't know what he was expecting, but he thought that if he turned enough stones or moved enough markers, he'd find some evidence of the first camp-site they had created when Tabula Rasa still seemed like a primitive island keeping them trapped. Why would it be there, though? Six years, multiple hurricanes, and other disasters -- all that was left was beach.
He traced his steps to the best of his ability from the Compound, weighted down with every stride he took. He had to remember how blessed they were, these days, considering all the resources they had and the people. There were days when he still woke up in a panic, worried about House running out of Vicodin (though they're long past that) or that another storm was on the horizon.
Absently, his fingers touched the back of his head where the goose-egg no longer existed. He smiled fondly as he thought of that first injury and the first time in his entire life when he didn't get left to fend for himself. He thought of going to the caves, but he wasn't sure that he had the emotional strength to stand there and remember everything. So, he went to the beach, and he prayed, and he kicked at the sand and looked for evidence of life.
It wasn't the same, though.
It was six years -- six years -- and if he was honest, it was some of the best years of his life. Chase glanced at the sun, grinning like a lunatic, and continued the walk along the surf with his hands jammed tight in the pockets of his black track-jacket.
[Anyone can find him at the site of the initial campsite. ST/LT all welcome]
He traced his steps to the best of his ability from the Compound, weighted down with every stride he took. He had to remember how blessed they were, these days, considering all the resources they had and the people. There were days when he still woke up in a panic, worried about House running out of Vicodin (though they're long past that) or that another storm was on the horizon.
Absently, his fingers touched the back of his head where the goose-egg no longer existed. He smiled fondly as he thought of that first injury and the first time in his entire life when he didn't get left to fend for himself. He thought of going to the caves, but he wasn't sure that he had the emotional strength to stand there and remember everything. So, he went to the beach, and he prayed, and he kicked at the sand and looked for evidence of life.
It wasn't the same, though.
It was six years -- six years -- and if he was honest, it was some of the best years of his life. Chase glanced at the sun, grinning like a lunatic, and continued the walk along the surf with his hands jammed tight in the pockets of his black track-jacket.
[Anyone can find him at the site of the initial campsite. ST/LT all welcome]