Hope

As he'd heard the wind whistling in his ears and felt it whipping his hair about his face, as he'd felt that odd sensation in the pit of his stomach, as though he were on a roller coaster that continued endlessly downward... As the helicopter had hit the surface of the ice-cold ocean and sunk below, dragging its occupants with it... He'd thought of her.

The memories had come hard and fast, rushing at the inside of his eyelids as the pressure of the water and the force of the impact squeezed the air from his lungs. The first time they'd met, at the monastery; she'd invited him back for tea once they'd finished the delivery, and the two had hit it off from the word go. It hadn't taken long for their courtship to blossom into a relationship, and in no time at all he'd asked her to move in with him.

There had always been a dark shadow there, though. Her father, their money, had always made him feel inadequate... Made him feel like a failure...

Of course, it didn't help that her father did nothing to discourage his view of himself. He soon found that he believed the man's words, that he really wasn't good enough for her, that he'd never be good enough... And that was why he didn't do it. He didn't buy the ring. He didn't ask her to marry him.

He ran. He left her and he ran, because he was a coward.

Life after that went by in a kind of daze. The time he spent in the army was barely more than a distant memory, the kind that seemed as though he'd seen it through someone else's eyes. All he'd thought about was her, and his mind had been in turmoil; was it a mistake? Should he beg to be taken back? But no - her father was right. He wasn't good enough. But did that matter? ...Yes. It did.

His existence continued in this vein for some time, until his imprisonment and his discharge. During his time in prison, he'd had much to think on. It was rather a cliche, but he'd come to the realisation that life was simply too short.

It still mattered to him what her father thought, and he still believed it, but now... Now he was motivated. He would change it. He would make himself good enough for her.

And he knew precisely how to do it; her father was sponsoring a worldwide sailing race, and by winning he could both provide for her and earn her father's respect in one fell swoop.

But then... he'd arrived there. That island - that hellish rock. Three years he'd lived in that miserable place, that cold, metal box. Three years, he'd been away from her, but he found solace in the fact that he was "saving the world". Each time he pushed the button he ensured her survival. It made him feel, for once, that he was worth something - that he was a hero.

On the day that he'd missed it, the day he'd let the timer run all the way down to zero... He'd wanted to die. Because that meant that there was nothing left; no outside world, no her. Sinking into deep depression, wanting to kill himself, wanting to be with her in the next life sooner rather than later, he'd opened the book with the intention of reading it before he... did it. The letter had fallen out, he'd read it, and that made the longing for the release that death would bring intensify. He was going to do it, he was going to end it all... But he couldn't.

I'm a coward, he thought, as he sat amongst the scattered books and records on the ground and wept. A coward, nothing but a bloody coward... I never deserved her... And now I've killed her...

Then the sound had come. A muffled thudding, emanating from the world above his head. Shouting. Someone was out there. And if there was someone out there, alive, then...

Maybe she's still alive, too.

Those hopes had been dashed once more when he'd tried to sail his boat away, and ended up precisely where he'd begun. And then he'd helped the Box Man, let the timer run down once again, because if nothing else existed anymore, what did it matter? What did anything matter?

Then... he'd realised. He'd turned the key. And, for a while, he'd thought that it had all been a dream. He was back with her, back in the world, back in his old flat painting the walls red.

That illusion hadn't lasted long.

Oh, but finally, finally, the time had come when he'd known for sure that she was all right. That woman had parachuted down, said that she was hired by her. Hope came flooding back, filling him with a warm, joyful kind of light that he hadn't felt in so long.

Then, in that station, that fateful expedition that had ended in disaster... He'd heard her voice. For a split second he'd heard her voice, right before... it had happened. The tragedy. And the revelation. Those people were lying; the boat wasn't hers. But he didn't care. He only cared about getting on that boat and going home - going to find her, to tell her he was sorry, that he loved her and he'd never leave her again.

Salvation came once more in the form of the phone call. The sound of her voice had not only saved his life, but it had saved his sanity as well. And his hope was stronger than ever. He would see her again.

As he'd climbed inside the helicopter with the others, as he'd watched the freighter fading further and further into the distance, as he'd seen the cloud of fire and smoke and debris billow up into the air... He'd felt a numbing cold, deep inside. That boat had been his link to her, and now it was gone, burning and sinking along with all who'd still been aboard.

Now, as the helicopter splashes forcefully into the ocean, he sees all this. He remembers it all, as it flashes before his eyes. And, even as he hits his head on hard steel, even as water fills his lungs and his consciousness slips away, he holds onto his hope. He knows for sure, now. He will see her again.