Memories of Hope
Chapter 2: Scars and Tattoos
The sun shone mercilessly down on a strange-looking pair standing in the ocean. Walt and Hope stood side by side in silence, with their pants wet up to the knees, their sleeves rolled up to the elbows, staring intently into the water. They each held a stick, around a metre long, sharpened at one end to make a spear. Up on the sand, next to their shoes, sat an aeroplane blanket, waiting to wrap up the fish they had planned to catch that day. Currently, it was as empty as their stomachs.
"We've been here for hours!" whined Walt. "When are we going to catch some fish?"
"I guess when we acquire some accuracy." puffed Hope, still recovering from her last wade into the water to retrieve her spear. She looked over at her fishing companion and had to remind herself that he was, in truth, only a little kid. Not really known for their patience.
"Maybe we've had enough for now." Hope suggested. "I mean, we're definitely getting better, right? Getting much closer than when we started. So maybe all we need now is a bit of a break? We'll get some tomorrow. You think?"
"Sure." Walt shrugged and started wading back towards the shore. "We probably shouldn't be out in the sun so long anyway, right?"
"Right." said Hope, well aware that they were both trying to convince themselves, and each other, that they weren't really failed hunters.
"I like your tattoo," Walt said, as they pulled on their shoes and dusted the sand off the blanket.
"Thanks," Hope smiled at him. "Me too."
The small tattoo on her right wrist simply said, "HOPE", in a font she did not recognise. The tattoo was the basis of her name, and all she had left of her past. Since waking on the beach after the crash, Hope soon came to realise that she had no memories of a time before landing on the island. No faces of her family imprinted on her mind, no fears for people that would be missing her or mourning her death. No memories at all.
Jack had re-named her 'Hope', with the help of Charlie, who had joked that he was fond of such artistic things as re-naming people. Jack had said that they would need a little hope to get them all through this challenge, and she was inclined to agree. Proud to be a possible symbol of hope to the other castaways, she had taken on the name, but she had never stopped searching the dark recesses of her mind to try and find something familiar. Something that was more than sand or ocean, or the 47 faces that were the only ones she knew.
As Walt and Hope walked back towards the beach camp in search of water, she noticed that his face was scrunched up, as though debating with himself.
"What?" she questioned him. "What is it?"
"Do you ever wonder… about the crash? I mean, maybe you… Maybe you weren't by yourself. Don't you wish you were like everyone else?"
"Yeah," she sighed, "sometimes I wonder. It's kind of sad to me that I may have lost someone I love in the crash, but I can't remember enough to mourn them. But I guess that for now, that helps me to be strong. Everyone here is kind of haunted by the past – maybe everyone else wishes they were like me."
"That's stupid. I wouldn't want to forget. Even the bad stuff I wouldn't want to forget. I like to remember my mom, even though it's sad that she's not around anymore. Plus, if we don't remember, how can we learn from what we've done wrong?"
Hope smiled at the child, "You're right, we can't. You know, you're something else!" She laughed in disbelief. "Does your dad know you're so smart?"
Walt looked sad and glued his eyes to the sand as they walked, "My dad doesn't know much about me. He's too busy now. I guess he was always too busy."
"Well," Hope said gently, "maybe he just needs some help to learn from what he's done wrong. Not everyone can figure out for themselves how to make things right. 'You're never too old to ask for help, and never too young to offer it'." she quoted.
Walt smiled. "Smart. Who taught you that?"
Hope ran her mind over the shadowed faces in her memory. "I don't know." she said quietly.