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waniandmoonVincent is trying desperately not to lose hope, but he has the tired feeling that he's fighting a losing battle.
Rescue should have arrived by now.
He's reading his text messages again, sitting on the beach, just at the edge of the forest. He's been careful to try and conserve power in his phone, turning it on only once in a while on the impossible chance that he will get a signal.
There is never a signal.
He's probably memorized the last few conversations he's had with anyone of emotional importance, and he knows he's just torturing himself rereading them. He wonders what the queue of messages will look like if -- no, when -- they are rescued and returned to civilization.
With a sigh, he drops the phone onto the sand and stares up at the irritatingly empty sky, as if through sheer will power he can imagine a rescue plane into being.
Rescue should have arrived by now.
He's reading his text messages again, sitting on the beach, just at the edge of the forest. He's been careful to try and conserve power in his phone, turning it on only once in a while on the impossible chance that he will get a signal.
There is never a signal.
He's probably memorized the last few conversations he's had with anyone of emotional importance, and he knows he's just torturing himself rereading them. He wonders what the queue of messages will look like if -- no, when -- they are rescued and returned to civilization.
With a sigh, he drops the phone onto the sand and stares up at the irritatingly empty sky, as if through sheer will power he can imagine a rescue plane into being.
