It's night now. Everyone is quiet, locked in there own thoughts. Some of them seem to be still in shock. One the right there is a women, rocking backwards and forwards, her arms wrapped around her legs and her chin resting on her knees. Staring. That's what's odd, everyone is just staring out to sea. Waiting. Waiting for rescue. It has been seven hours since we crashed here. Long enough for somebody to notice our disappearance. Surely they would know if a plane had gone down, they would only have to track where the signal was last coming from. They? Who are they? The airport crew…satellites? Right now we feel so alone. A sense of loneliness which strikes deep in the heart of every living human here. A man walked by, heading towards the main camp fire. He was a fit build, strong muscles on his arms and large shoulders. A black man, possibly Iraqi. He had the skin of a far-east born man. Sat by the camp fire was another man. A laid back guy, stretched out absorbing the fire's warmth. He didn't look worried. He didn't look scared. Or lonely. Maybe he was used to being on his own. The kind of man who lived alone, worked alone and drank alone. A man with plenty to hide maybe. The man noticed the Iraqi walking towards the large fire. He looked at him, taking him in. The Iraqi piled wood by the stock pile and returned the stare at the laid back man. He muttered hello, and introduced himself. Sayid was his name. A redneck accent flowed from the man laid by the fire, a friendly greeting. He also returned the greeting with his name. Sawyer. Sawyer smiled at the man called Sayid. They shook hands, Sayid giving a much firmer hand shake than Sawyer. A true man, a warrior's hand shake. Sayid turned and walked back towards where he came from. Sawyer pushed another log into the fire, the only friend to all the survivors, and slowly closed his eyes, his last glimpse at the open, empty ocean before he drifted off to sleep. Next to him was a pregnant women was staring into the fire, both hands on her stomach, protecting her child, sipping water that had been boiled by the Iraqi man an hour ago. She seemed recovered and over the physical shock of the events of the day. What must be going through her head would be question after question, some shared by many of the new inhabitants of the Island, and hope that they would be saved.

Everyone else was quiet or still, sleeping or wishing none of this was real. It was real though, very real. Everything seemed to happen in a different motion. Not a slow motion, but a calm, smooth motion. Maybe it was the quiet that was making the whole scene seem some how odd. There really was nothing to hear, except the waves crashing on the beach, the crackle of the fires and the breeze rustling the palms on the trees to the left. The many fires were only warming to one side of the soul, slowly soothing the shock and loneliness. The other side still haunted by the fear and events that happened this very day.

The last sight seen was of a man, silhouetted by the fire against the beach. He was sat, cross-legged staring out at the ocean. He seemed the most aware of all of the survivors, an instinct that knew more than let on. He was chewing a mango, enjoying the taste and sweetness of the fruit. The only thing that didn't seem to have a secret hidden deep away.

The stars were out, the sky clear, revealing all of space's beauty. The many star formations, twinkling, bright in the night sky. There was so many of them that each individual one looked lost. Like the survivors.