Dream Again

Day 514-555

I spend the next three days in mourning. My grief is too heavy to think. And I expect it to curdle to hate as I kneel upon her grave. Trying to remmeber the songs she taught me so i can sing her to rest.
But it doesn't.
My grief changes in me. And I remain who I am. Just stronger. Who I always was. A liar. A cheat. A gambler. A fighter.
Not the prey.
There's nothing irrational about it. My head is thinking very clearly. Insanely so so I know I'm going mad. I'm losing myself back into who I was. The person I became. The boy in his room staring at a deck of cards while parents fought below. Because none of them could matter. Or it would break my heart.
"Give me the money," my sister's hand on my shirt, "I know you're good for it. I know you have it. Just five hundred."
"No," she'd use it on drugs, "No."
She hit my face.
And I didn't care. I couldn't care. I had a game to play. Fifty two cards. 1/52 chance always of life. Good odds. Very good odds. Learn the odds. Learn the game. The strategy. Ther'es a time for bluff. And there's a time to show your hand.
"Never leave them standing," Neil said, kicking my father's face, "If you do they'll fight back. Never let them get up."
"Don't leave," I said, quietly, as the dealer picked up his stash.
"You'll be fine kid," he said, messing up my hair.
And he got shot to death that night.
It doesn't matter. None of it can matter. Never leave them standing. And one day I'll die. I'm going to die. I'm about to die. But when I do. It'll be to finish this. Once and for all.
I know this island better than I know my own name. The trails are easy to find and I know where water flows. I also know where dry brush is. I've spent over a year learning to build fires. How to make them smolder. How to stoke them till they grow. What ground will put them out. How much dried leaves you need to keep them going. Dry leaves and branches. Dry kelp makes a good initaitor. So does drift wood baked in the sun.
And I plan. And I wait.
Max haunts the woods. He's searching for me. I confuse my trails. Twice he gets close enough I hear him whistling. I whistle the Colnel Bogey march back, then disappear. He still doesn't know about the sea caves. I use those if I must.
It's going to take time. My plan is by no means simple this is me we're talking about. I dry brush and branches then carefully hide them. I still have to gather fish from our traps and the odd fruit that i can stomach. It's slow going, Max took the knife or it's lost on the beach. I assume he took it. I can't bring myself to go and look for some days. When I do it's buried there in the sand. I take it, averting my eyes from the sand which is stained deep red from her blood.
Night holds no meaning. I rest when I finally can run no more. It's a steady, almost hypnotic rhythm. Everything must be perfect. I'm usually only this focused for perhaps hours at a time. A few long games. Maybe longer if I had to switch casinos. But now it lasts for weeks. Max is hunting too. I hear him at night. Or I hear the creature. I don't know what it thinks of us.
Finally one night Max gets horribly close. I hide under brush. He doesn't see me, walking past. But he knows I've been there. I just put out a small fire.
"there's no where to run now," Max calls, his bow in his hand, "You know you won't get away. I always find my prey. And you're just a little, idiot, schoolboy."
I don't move, lowering my breath.
"You'll never win. What made you think you could win against me? I will find you. We've got—nothing but time. It's you. And ti's me. You don't get to survive."
He leaves when I don't come out to his taunts. As if he can shake me. Nothing shakes me. What would make me tip my hand? Not him. Not that. I have a royal flush. My bet isn't bluff.
I go back to work the next day, always watching my back. It's nearly soothing. A rhythm to it. I'll escape somehow. I don't expect to survive. That's the thing he doesn't understand. I never expected to survive. That was never in the game. I never laid that bet.
And I'm not doing it for me. I'm doing what I"m doing for River. And for Luke. And Miranda. And Adrian. And all the others who died. It's for them. I'm just the one who lived to do it. Maybe that's all right. I'm suited far more to this bitter revenge than any piece of heaven. I know nothing waits for me.
And I wait till a clear day. The sort of clear day that results in nothing but moonlit skies. River and I would always wait for the full moon, because we could dance under it. Well i dance tonight. All for you. This is for all of them. I know they'd hate me if they saw anything like what I really am. I can't believe I'm still living. But I'm really not.