The Boat On The Beach

Chapter One: Healing

Thomas stared down at the sand, the wet substance covering his toes and individual grains getting stuck between his toenails. He sighed and looked towards the horizon. 

The sun was rising over the glistening water, creating vibrant colours which were reflected in the sea, idily lapping at the shore. The golden sands lay still and untouched ahead of him, a gentle reminder of how early it was and, a not so gentle reminder of how lonely Thomas felt. The golden mountains peaked in his peripheral, the grass swayed in the gentle breeze. It was a calm place. That was the point of the safe haven, it was calm. And safe.

"Newt would have liked it here" Thomas thought to himself with a flicker of a smile on his lips.

He missed Newt. More than anything. He'd give anything to see the boy again. All he wanted to do was say sorry, sorry for not being strong enough, sorry for not holding on, sorry for letting the boy down. Thomas's mind swarmed, a storm of thoughts. An obvious contrast to the idyllic place he resided in.

He turned to look at the beach. He could imagine it. Newt standing there, next to him. The morning sun making his golden hair sparkle, his brown eyes twinkle..."god" Thomas sighed to himself. "Where did your smile go Newt? Why aren't I allowed to see it anymore?"

It'd been almost a year now. A year. It felt longer. So much longer. Thomas's shoulders drooped as he sighed. He carefully unfurled the letter from the capsule tenderly kept around his neck. He read the letter. He always did. Like clockwork. After drinking in the words that he knew off by heart, and had for months, he put it away again as he heard heavy footsteps, feet in large boots coming his way. He didn't need to look. He just stared out to sea.

"Morning shank" Minho's usual greeting.

"Morning" came a soft reply.

He saw Minho frowning. He did that a lot now. Thomas could see there was a storm behind those eyes, behind that playful mask. Minho had as many troubles as Thomas did. Neither of them asked about each others. They never had, a sign of mutual respect Thomas supposed. But, Minho did ask about Newt. They talked about him all the time. Of course. They had been  trio. But behind that, they both knew it was to keep Newt's memory alive. As if, if they stopped talking about him the blond boy and his smile would fade into nothing.

"Morning reading done?" Minho teased, but Thomas could sense a hint of sincerity in his voice.

"Yeah. Not much of a page turner I have to admit" he finally turned to Minho and shot him his usual smile.

"Well thats good. Too long and your brain would melt" Minho smirked and turned on his heel, motioning for Thomas to follow. 

Thomas smacked his arm. "Slinthead" 

They made a beeline for a small hut on the edge of camp. Patched with different shades of wood and what looked like scrap metal. A 'door', which was just a layer of animal hyde, flapped softly in the wind. Minho pushed it aside and the two boys made their way in. 

Thomas was glad to have a job. It helped keep his mind away from the storm and made him feel useful. At least he could do something other than mope and think about all the people he could have saved. Even if the job was just preparing and helping Frypan with the food, it made Thomas feel part of the community.

"Ah. Look which shanks decided tactually show up" Frypan crossed his arms in fake anger, although Thomas couldn't help but feel sightly intimidated by the huge knife he was holding.

"Sorry Fry, you know how little miss sunshine here gets about his morning reading" Although Minho said it teasingly, it was code he always used for "give him a break, you know how heartbroken he is." 

Thomas saw a flash of guilt fall over Frypan's features before returning to their sarcastic ones. "That i do. Well, come on, get on with it before I serve you for dinner." he pointed the knife accusingly at Thomas before going back to chopping up meat. Thomas and Minho started working and chatting, the three of them quickly falling into a well known schedule, almost like a production line.

Half way through the hours before their lunch break, just when Thomas's back was starting to ache, they heard yelling and running. The three of them looked at each other and started towards the door, before Gally burst in, panting and sweating. Thomas's guess was that he had run from the other side of camp. 

"G..Guys..y..your going to want to see this" he panted.