Castaways

18::Hannah Ain't Loco

October 22 5:38 AM

I woke up quickly, my body shuddering in shock of the loud blasts from far away. When I sat up, I was face to face with Andrews chest, as if it was a pillow. My fingers had gripped his shirt tightly, and his arms were slung around my waist as if he were my personal blanket. A small blush made its way to my face at the close proximity, but I quickly covered it up and sat up fully, now fully straddling his torso.

Why did it sound like a gun going off? Did Jerardo wake up?

"Mm?" Andrew mumbled, his arms that once were limp at his side slid across my back and pulled me back to him, and he buried his head in the crook of my neck.

I giggled nervously, before I sat up again. "Andrew, wake up!" I'll admit, the chilly air was making me want nothing more than to snuggle with him but if I heard what I think I did, something was off.

I lightly slapped his face and stood up, stretching my body as I did. When i looked out of the hole, I saw a gray haze as thick as cotton candy.the sun had yet to rise, and the morning fog was still afloat on the island. The crash of the waves seemed cynical to me, considering there was nothing calm about our predicament. I quickly grabbed my camera and snapped a quick picture before turning it off. It was down to half percentage, and the thought of my camera dying made me sick to my stomach.

It felt like the only thing anchoring me to my mom and my family.

After setting it back down, I looked down at Andrew who smiled softly back up at me. His overgrown hair was in his face, and one eye was squinting as he stretched his arms over his head.

"Hannah, we may have no proper source to tell time, but I can tell you this is too early." He said to me, slowly and slyly sitting up and standing. He made a face shine through pain, and for a minute I panicked but he quickly covers it up. I was questioning whether I should ask him about it, but decided against it.

"I heard a gun shot."

"Is loco head up?" He asked me, rubbing his eyes and letting out a yawn.

I shrugged. "I'm not sure, but we hid the gun anyways. He doesn't know where it is. Do you think his buddies figured out he's gone?"

He blew a raspberry before answering. "No doubt about it."

"What do we do?" I asked, anxiety rising within.

"Figure out how we're getting off this island. How many days do we have left?" He asked, looking around the morning fog.

"Four." I shivered. "What the hell do we do?"

He didn't respond, and the anxiety feeling I had earlier began to rise again. Four days. 576 hours; 34,560 minutes to figure out how to get out of here otherwise I'm dead. I'll never see my family again. My friends, my ex's, my enemies, my acquaintances , my teachers (good and bad). Everyone I've ever met, everyone I've ever loved, will never see me again. For all they know, I'm already dead.

This situation sure made me feel dead.

"So that's it?" I asked in a small voice. "We just...give up?"

He didn't say anything again, and I sighed. I propped myself out of the hole, and after orienting myself I made my way towards the water. I haven't gone swimming in a while, and if Jerardo's goons wanted to come kill me then they better have good aim. Without a care in the world, I stripped off my shirt and shorts and ran in, diving under the first wave I saw suitable.

I'm not sure how much time passed while I was in the water. I like to think of it as a cleanser, except it's cleaning my brain and attempting to wash away all negative thoughts, sweeping them out into the vast ocean and replacing them with hopeful ones. Hope is an idea of expectations and of desires. One word. Many meanings. Different contexts.