Survival Of The Fittest

((Violet Druce continued from A Slight Change of Plans))

Her eyes felt sore.

She rubbed them, knowing it would only make them worse, but she needed the relief; the sense of control. When she rubbed them, they didn't sting so much. It was only after she stopped that the irritating feeling returned, so she kept on rubbing, pressing her palms into her eyelids, occasionally scratching herself with her eyelashes.

It was a long time since she'd had a proper night's rest, and now that she was on her own, she was suddenly met with a crippling sense of paranoia, as though someone would kill her the second she dozed off. So she sat in the wind and the sun, at the very peak of the lighthouse, letting her legs dangle over the edge of the platform while she watched the horizon.

The announcements told her that Mike had perished in the boats, along with anyone else who tried to run away. But she knew better. At a loss for somewhere safe to sleep, she'd chosen the lighthouse as a waypoint, knowing that up here she could see the entire island, and the oceans beyond. And at first, that was her intention. She remembered how sick she felt when she ran up those stairs; a deep anxiety boiling away as she realized what she'd done by staying behind. Not only did she have no idea where Trent was, but now she'd lost her only companion, and doomed herself to the very fate she'd been so desperate to escape.

As soon as she reached the top, she rushed over to the railings, clinging on for dear life as the wind threatened to throw her down to the mercy of the rocks below. She strained her eyes as hard as she could, scanning the water for any signs of the boats. For the longest time she saw nothing, and though she was tired and hurting she kept on searching, hoping to see the tiniest flash of black amidst the endless span of blue.

After what seemed to be forever, she finally gave in; too fatigued to carry on and too cold to stay outside. Venturing indoors, she made herself a bed out of whatever clothes she wasn't wearing, and laid awake for a solid 12 hours, kept adrift in the waves of slumber by the continuous thrashing of the sea and the noise within her head.

Clinging to the hope that she would eventually fall asleep, she stayed there until the sun lit up the room, only getting to her feet once the familiar static began; a crackle she would meet with fear whenever it screeched into her senses.

Hearing the news about the escapees, she immediately checked for evidence. Not one inch of her believed what the man on the radio had said, not one fucking inch. There was no way they could've known about rescue attempt beforehand, or else the boats wouldn't have reached the island at all. That was her belief - her one and only truth. It was all she had, all that gave her some semblance of comfort, and was the only thing stopping her from chucking herself over the edge out of pure, unbridled guilt for sending Mike out there alone.

What was strange though, what was really strange, was the fact that there was no proof of an explosion anywhere around. No smoke loomed up on the edge of the sky, and surely she would've heard the sound of the blasts, if- oh, but then, she'd been asleep. And even then she hadn't seen which direction the boats had travelled in, they'd already gone by the time she looked. But there was a voice, a base instinct, that was telling her not to worry. Whatever was going on, whatever the terrorists were saying, she just knew Mike hadn't died. Or the others. She was sure they were safe, all together somewhere far away and living and laughing and so very lucky.

This thought was going to keep her going. If ever she found herself near death, if she ever lost hope, she would think of Mike, and how lucky he was.

And, she supposed, how lucky she was to have met him.

Her body felt cold, even to the touch. The camera she carried would've told her the time, but she refused to turn it on. It only had so much power left, and she didn't want to waste it. By her estimation, it was around six or seven o'clock, going by the announcements. They usually played while the daylight was still a little blue, not as bright as it became later on, about midday. So yeah, she figured it ought to be a few hours after sunrise. That explained the chill at least. God it was freezing. She wished she'd brought more layers; less T-shirts, more woollen fleeces and turtle-necks. Maybe some ugg boots. Girls were always going on about them in school, and now she could see why. If only they sold them here, like a little ugg boot vendor, she'd be set. Although, she'd almost definitely have to set up a tab. It wasn't like she had dollars bundled in her socks, and even if she did, would they take dollars here? She didn't even know where here was.

"Stop it, stop it."

She pressed her palms into her eyes.

"Just stop it now."

Why did she keep doing this to herself? Every day she was reminded of how hopeless this was, and she'd try and lighten up the mood by making the situation seem trivial in her head. It worked for the most part, even more so when Mike was around, but now she was stuck at the top of a lighthouse, with no plan, no-one to talk to, and it was pushing her to the limit. She was getting sick of the sound of her own voice. Sick of the constant drone, the torrent of useless information and downright retarded ideas. It wasn't practical - it didn't help her in any real way. All it did was smooth over the cracks, make it seem like everything was fine, when the whole world could see that it wasn't.

She slammed her hands onto the railing, gripped on tight as her body shivered with rage. Frustrated was the right word for it, that sounded good. It was how she was feeling, down to the very last vowel. Over and over she would ask herself "Why me?", but every answer fell short of satisfaction. Karma? She could think of nothing that deserved this as punishment. God? She shook her head. Her dad had never enforced religion onto her, but she'd always liked the idea of a protector; someone looking out for the little people when the bigger ones turned away.

The worst notion she'd had was that she simply had bad luck. That one ate her up inside. To think that she was only here because of some cosmic lucky draw, that she'd been put here not for any specific reason, or to find something deep and world-changing, but because she drew the losing ticket without knowing how.

Her hands balled up. She slammed them down on the bar, then recoiled with a whimper as the impact sent a dull pain through her skin. She had to stop doing this to herself. It was like self-inflicted torture. Her mind could go on for hours, circling round the same philosophies and theories until she felt her brain throb, pushing itself against the walls of her skull, and when the pain subsided the next day, she'd start again. It was inevitable. Another instance of hardship that she concluded as evidence of someone out there with a handful of pins and a filthy fabric doll.

She began to pace around the gallery, watching the sea through the grates at her feet. An attempt to lose herself within the waves, perhaps, thwarted by the untimely clang that rang out as her head hit something metallic. One hand rubbing the sore spot under her hair, she doubled back with a sense of anxiety. If someone else was here, then-

A telescope?

But- no. What? This whole time there'd been a telescope on the other side of the building, and she'd completely missed it. This must've been the first time she'd walked all the way around the light, otherwise there was no way she could've ignored it. It was big and grey and looked a little like the ones she used to see on holiday, whenever they went to the beach. It was aimed towards the rest of the island, and when she looked through it, she first disbelieved how far it could actually reach. She could see the mansion, the greens, the infirmary - everything in sparkling detail. Scanning the forests, she wondered for a while if anyone else had seen what she could see now. Then she tried to work out how many people must be left alive, but her memory of the previous announcements was foggy and fractured, so she gave up trying. What did it matter anyway? There were bodies everywhere, and ten whole days had passed. The fact that she was still standing was purely a testament to how far she could run with somebody else beside her.

And as she was dipping her feet into yet another pool of rhetoric, she came across a familiar-looking shape in the distance. It looked hairy and bloodied, yet it was one of the few people around that weren't face-down. In fact, it was standing pretty tall, arms outstretched as though it was pleading with someone else - someone also so familiar, but, then, why did this one have a gun? And why was it aiming at the one she recognized just from the back alone?

"Trent!" She screamed, "I'm coming! Hold on!"

She ran back around to the room with the light, and she grabbed all her things, and she packed them all tight. Made sure nothing was left, made double sure, checked twice, then ran down the stairs with the hope of reunion setting her tracks alight.

Please, please be alright.

((Violet Druce continued elsewhere))