Mayday (completed)

Preface:

The sunbeams in my eyes as I lie on the sand. My mouth dry, lips chapped, dehydration nipping at the tip of my sanity. Frostbite, deep from the night's grasp, has rendered my limbs useless. I could scream, but my throat is too dry. It would be rendered useless on an abandoned island on god knows where we are. Eithne and Aisling are already dead, they have been for three days. Was it my pure stubbornness that has kept me alive? Should I have just given up to ignore the suffering throughout these past few, devious days? Surely Papa would have been disappointed, I have never given up in life, so why should I start at death's door? Maybe this was God's plan all along.

Yet, as I am frozen along the sand, waves echoing in the distance, I can't help but ponder what would have happened if we never boarded that flight to Paris...