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It's not until the faint rays of morning break through the night that it comes back to me. When the colors in the sky take on that burning color. I find myself plunged back into the firey hell that spit me out on this island. The days and nights are easy to find ways to block out the memory of that day. The screaming. The pain. The sounds of metal twisting and ripping. But there's nothing I can do for myself when the sky turns to flame. I find myself surrounded in daily reruns of what changed everything forever.
How long has it been since we've been here? Days? Weeks? Maybe months now. The only thing I know for certain is that without a way to track the days I'm losing sense of them. It used to be that days and nights seemed to share equal amounts of my time. But now there are days when it feels as though it's darker than it should be. And others when I wait desperately for the dark and find none. I wonder if I'm the only one feeling this.
I'd ask what the others thought, but judging by the looks that most give me it'd just make them think me more of an idiot than they already do. I know what they think. They think I'm just some stuck up rich kid who doesn't know a thing about anything. But they couldn't be farther from the truth. But it's their problem. Sometimes I wonder if they know more about me than they let on. I know I've never said much about my past and where I'm from but I swear, sometimes, that I can see that disapproving look in their eyes. The same one my step father used to save for me when he was alive. Those adoring looks that a father gives his child were saved for his own and his own only; my stepsister Shannon. But the past is the past and daddy dearest is not here to fix it all.
How long has it been since we've been here? Days? Weeks? Maybe months now. The only thing I know for certain is that without a way to track the days I'm losing sense of them. It used to be that days and nights seemed to share equal amounts of my time. But now there are days when it feels as though it's darker than it should be. And others when I wait desperately for the dark and find none. I wonder if I'm the only one feeling this.
I'd ask what the others thought, but judging by the looks that most give me it'd just make them think me more of an idiot than they already do. I know what they think. They think I'm just some stuck up rich kid who doesn't know a thing about anything. But they couldn't be farther from the truth. But it's their problem. Sometimes I wonder if they know more about me than they let on. I know I've never said much about my past and where I'm from but I swear, sometimes, that I can see that disapproving look in their eyes. The same one my step father used to save for me when he was alive. Those adoring looks that a father gives his child were saved for his own and his own only; my stepsister Shannon. But the past is the past and daddy dearest is not here to fix it all.