Those who were taken...
They never came back, dragged beneath the waves never to return.
Their haunting screams were a symbol of their horrific deaths.
Like shadows they lay in wait, the deep blue waters hiding them from view.
With sharp claws they...
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Cally can hear him moving around outside, dragging something large through the sand, but she remains hiding in the tent. She is too afraid to face him right now. The raw fear she had felt was beyond traumatizing. She remembers how angry he had been at her carelessness when it came to her own life. She begins to wonder why he would care so much. The value of her life should have been of no consequence to him. So, why did he feel the need to protect her?
She stokes the fire with a blunt branch, creating spaces for air to reach the center of the flames. She is surprised by how quickly she has picked up the art of fire building. It has proven to be a rather relaxing process, especially for times like this.
It is quiet now outside the tent, so she assumes he has left again. She briefly wonders what he could have been doing out there. It isn't like there is much to do on this island. She still has no idea where he disappeared to after she broke down on the beach. Perhaps he had gone after the plane?
Cally briefly glances in the direction of the fallen airplane. No, she couldn't entertain the thought that they had actually survived the initial crash. If they did, then it was her fault no one saved them.
Content that the fire would survive on it's own for a while, Cally begins to emerge from the tent. She peeks through the flaps carefully, not spotting any sign of Atlas. Instead, there is a large trunk dumped in the sand at her feet. Cally's brows furrow. Did he get this from the plane?
She opens the latch hesitantly, lifting the heavy lid up. She is in utter shock and delight at what she sees. There are clothes, soaps, shoes, a comb, even a small mirror! All of the objects are soaking wet, but this is of no consequence to her. She gingerly carries the clothes to a near by bush, casting them over the branches to dry in the sunlight.
A small pang of sadness seeps it's way into her chest. The owner of these belongings is dead now. A part of Cally knows that using these is wrong, but she can't let the useful items go to waste.
Cally almost cries as she gently holds the bottle of men's shampoo and body wash in her dirty hands. She quickly sets the other things out to dry before making her way to the sea. Perhaps salt water is not the best kind of water to use for washing, but she could care less.
She walks in to where she is ankle deep, the waves lapping gently at her knees. Bending over, she wets her hair, carefully not to get the salty water in her eyes. She squeezes the tiniest bit of soap into her hands, conserving as much of it as possible for future use.
Cally scrubs her scalp like she never has before. She works the shampoo deep into her roots before working her way to the ends. The sharp scent reaches her nose, the pleasant smell more delightful than anything she has ever smelled before. She feels bad rinsing again, knowing the water isn't clean, but it will have to do.
