Days on the Island: 2
Afternoon
The rain has let up and I've moved to get a better look at Baldy. I'm wondering what his story is. A self professed prophet with delusions of grandeur or just a Bible beater, thanking God we're alive? Either way something about that guy freaks me out. Who sits in the rain for half an hour with this 'I've come home,' look in his eyes?
I was indulging my favorite pastime (creating lives for the people I watch afar) and was dreaming up Baldy's cultish background and job as a postal worker where he is about to snap when the kid from earlier came up to me.
"What are you doing?" he asked out of the blue, jolting me out of my thoughts about Baldy's seven wives. "Writing in my journal…well it's not really mine I guess," I replied, starting to feel a little bad for stealing someone's journal. He leaned over, trying to see the pages. "What are you writing about?" I glanced at the journal, not really sure what I was doing with it. "Everything, I guess. The plane crash, everything that's happening here," I replied with a shrug. Suddenly, it sounded very boring. No wonder my book flopped. I can't even make a plane crash that I witness first hand sound interesting. The boy just nodded and looked like he was deep in thought. I thought we were done so I smiled and glanced back down at my journal.
"Why?" He suddenly asked, surprising me. "I don't know," I replied honestly, for a moment unsure why I did have this sudden urge to write. "I guess it helps me deal with it. I can get everything off my chest, you know?" He nodded again looking way too introspective for a kid his age. "And who knows, maybe when we get rescued I can sell it and make millions." I joked and he smiled.
He paused for another long moment, looking like he was searching for just the right words. "Can you write in there that I lost my dog? His name's Vincent. Maybe someone will read it and find him." I smiled sympathetically. "Sure. I can do that."
The man I assumed was his dad called to him and he slowly started to walk away. "Hey," he called, pausing and turning towards me again.
"What's your name?"
"Gwen," I called back. "What's yours?"
"Walt," he yelled back. I smiled and waved.
"I'll see you around, Walt." He smiled and ran towards his father.
I watched his dad scold him for running off and felt a wave of sympathy. They didn't look like they had the easiest relationship. Hell, if anyone could understand tense relationships with their father, it was me.
Poor kid. I hope he finds his dog, though I don't know how the hell it would have survived the crash. I'm still in surprised so many of us survived, to be honest.