#deviatedstarter

[arqueclogias]

leaning up against the cool rubble of the fuselage, maya refrained from the crowd that gathered more directly around the fire. with each beat of her heart, she felt more breathless. closing her eyes tight, she inhaled, 1 ... 2 ... 3 ... 4,  and then exhaled,  2 ... 2 ... 3 ... 4.  a quick trick learned between careening vans on ill-kept mountain roads and before every take off of every flight. biting her lip, she realized the irony--using a tactic of comfort in the fallout of oceanic flight 815.

a deep sigh marked the sting of her daughter nayeli’s memory. they’d been there two days, surely rescue crews were already looking--hunting the charts of the ocean like hounds with the scent of a fox. nayeli. maya inhaled deeply and held her breath for a moment--she’d be with her again--before exhaling and opening her eyes only to forcibly blink back the sting of campfire smoke and painful longing to return home. as her eyes focused through the stark light of the fire against the night sky, maya saw a figure approach. “not much for crowds?” she asked, raising a brow. folding her arms across her chest. “yeah, me neither.” looking back up at the sky, she let out a dark chuckle. “rough night?”

[ianuarias-blog]

it’s different. it just is. death is certainly nothing new to fiona harper, who had lost both her parents already in her young life. the dog she was still searching for her only connection to them. it was different because were many of the people she’d lost in the aftermath of the crash in or nearer to a proper hospital, they wouldn’t have died. if she’d had half the resources of even america’s shittiest emergency department, she might have saved some of them. losing a patient in the ed back home with a team and code carts and labs and imaging easily at her disposal had been easier--they’d done all they could. marooned on this island, losing a patient felt worse.

striding away from the camp with her fists clenched tightly, there was no familiar support for her to work through the anger and she blinked away her frustration as her throat dried. fiona wasn’t a crier. death, in general, didn’t make her cry--not since she was a child anyway, aside from her father’s. instead, she was an angry crier and would cry over the smaller things that made her angry while maintaining a calm, empathetic expression in the face of the things that truly broke her heart.

not paying attention to her surroundings as she gritted her teeth and made to find the furthest safe point of the camp, fiona strode quickly over the wet sand, where it was easier to walk. stealing a glance back to where she’d come from to see how far she’d come, she let out a short breath at the contact of bumping into another survivor. stepping back and unclenching her firsts to relieve the pressure of the small crescents forming in her palms, fiona recovered and smoothed her hair reflexively. “i’m--i’m so sorry.” she stammered, anxious to keep moving towards the outskirts. “i was distracted. i’ve been looking for my dog.” a small truth to hide a bigger one. after near three days of being strong, fiona was looking for somewhere to fall apart.

[arthitsorenson815]

Two days since the crash. Arthit still felt like he was in a daze. According to some people that asked if he was okay, it went as far as him also looking like he was still in a daze. He didn’t much think about it, but in the rare occasion that he did, he figured it was true. Everything he looked at was never really in focus. Arthit helped in a sort of sleepwalk like state. Not talking. Not eating. Not sleeping. He tried sleeping the first night he was on the island only to cry himself awake with vivid nightmares. He didn’t bother with sleep after that, opting instead to just walk around the part of the island that had been declared safe by the leaders of the small group of survivors.

Survivors. He survived a plane crash. Would his family know that? Would his mom tell his dad? Would his dad even remember he has a son? Arthit stopped in his tracks and stared out at the moonlit water. His vision started to clear. Just for a moment. Tears welled up the next moment, blurring everything until he blinked. “I’m okay, dad,” he spoke out to the ocean, imagining the waves would carry his words all the way home. “I want you to know I’m okay before you forget me. I love you.” Voice cracking as he finished. “I’ll be home before you can miss me.”

[krcmcr-blog]

with his arm bledding profusely throught the shirt he had tightened and tied up trying to stop his wound from bleeding, dane sat on the sand. his legs and arms crossed and his eyes fixated on the water and the reflection on it. his cheekbones and shoulders were already red from the sun and his lips dry from the salt. he was calm, though. at least he wouldn’t go to a maximum security prison. things have ended up his way in some twisted way. after a while, he noticed someone standing a few meters from him. he turned his head, a frown forming “what? never seen a person bleed before?”.