VOLATILE (I) : peter pan ouat

When a Dive Happened

7

Felix has not been seen for two days. It's a scary thought to imagine the oldest and toughest boy here dying. My mortality seems all the more real, even on an island where I will never age.

Fine china is often said to be very delicate. One little slip and it falls and smashes off the ground. I feel as if at any second my life could give way and I will shatter into a million pieces.

Humans are very fragile.

The positive side to Felix's disappearance, is that the conspirators have disappeared as well. Vanished into thin air, out of sight and out of mind. Somehow, the thought is more comforting than I think it should be.

I almost consider tracking them down, until I remember that in 7 days, none of this will be my problem. In 7 days, all of this is as good as imaginary. I'll leave in peace. Even if Felix isn't back safe, what does it matter? The boy had always freaked me out anyway.

Hoping and believing are two very different actions, despite them being similar enough I frequently confuse the two. Do I actually believe what I tell myself? Or do I simply hope that it is true?

I sit up, straightening my back.

"Charlie." His voice croaks out like a frog. The illness that has invaded his body has stolen away his voice as well as his health.

"Shouldn't you still be lying down?" I demand, standing up.

Max shakes his head. "Robert cleared me for the funeral. My head is pounding like nobody's business, but I can move without throwing up on everything in sight, so I should be good."

"Was Steven cleared as well?"

I never had a conversation with the boy, but I assume he would like to attend the funeral. Especially considering he seemed to know Victor well enough.

"Did you go to the barge last night?" He asks.

I never go to the barge. There's something about setting a body on fire and sending it out into the water that just makes me feel eerie. It feels too complete. Fire and water. His body's physical departure to accompany the departure of his mind.

Death shouldn't be quite that poetic. It feels wrong.

"No," I tell him. "I didn't."

He nods. "I only went to Lyle's."

I didn't.

We stand in silence before he gestures behind him.

"Come on, do you want to go get some breakfast?"

I nod, following him out.

I almost debate changing into different clothes today. I'm not quite sure why the need reaches me, but it probably has to do with the blood stain I found on the outside of my cloak. Water won't even wash it off; I tried when I showered yesterday.

I head up to the breakfast table, sitting down. Expecting Max to sit next to me, I'm surprised when he joins Thomas at the far end of the table. I'm happy that they still are friends, despite Lyle's death. Death can tear people apart.

I scoop up some sort of meat, and a few berries on to my plate. We even have bread this morning, which I take as well.

Robert comes next to me, pale in the face. The bench creaks as he sits down, pressing his weight deep into the table.

"I take it Steven hasn't gotten any better." I almost chuckle, taking a bite of my bread.

He shakes his head. "He's only getting worse. Yesterday he was fine to walk and talk, but now..."