James Ford (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sorrydontsuitme) wrote2008-11-15 11:44 am
sorrydontsuitme) wrote2008-11-15 11:44 am
(no subject)
There's something about getting ready to go back to the island that rubs him the wrong damn way. He knows why Freckles wants to go and he knows exactly how come he's going with her, but it doesn't mean he has to like it. It ain't like he hates the people there any more than he hates the people here -- well, not most of 'em, anyway -- and some of them he even likes. And sure, there's all sorts of mysterious stuff going on there, from the whispers to the polar bears to the fact ain't no one come looking for them yet and it's been how long? Two months?
No one's gonna come at this point. The question becomes this: how much worse is it sitting there trying to pretend not to hope than it is sitting here pretending they're in some future? He ain't no philosopher, but he's read a lot and he knows his science fiction and every damn day, he can't help but wonder if he's just sleeping and this place is all a dream.
But he checks the scruff on his face and throat and the crappy island clothes on his back. The sand in 'em feels real. He ought to have been working on his damn tan here, but his skin colors fast and it ain't like anyone's going to notice anyhow. He's got his copy of The Great Gatsby, any identifying future date pages ripped out, much as it pained him to deface a book, and he'll drop his room key off at the desk for safe-keeping on the way out.
Hell no he doesn't want to go. He ain't as curious about it all as Freckles. Sooner or later, though, he'll wake up and when he does he'll probably find that this is a dream within a dream about the island and he'll still be in lockup in that shitty Australian jail.
Yeah, that's about how he figures it. Looking around the room, he shakes his head. No more asteroid belt gossip rags for a while.
Goodnight, Moon.
No one's gonna come at this point. The question becomes this: how much worse is it sitting there trying to pretend not to hope than it is sitting here pretending they're in some future? He ain't no philosopher, but he's read a lot and he knows his science fiction and every damn day, he can't help but wonder if he's just sleeping and this place is all a dream.
But he checks the scruff on his face and throat and the crappy island clothes on his back. The sand in 'em feels real. He ought to have been working on his damn tan here, but his skin colors fast and it ain't like anyone's going to notice anyhow. He's got his copy of The Great Gatsby, any identifying future date pages ripped out, much as it pained him to deface a book, and he'll drop his room key off at the desk for safe-keeping on the way out.
Hell no he doesn't want to go. He ain't as curious about it all as Freckles. Sooner or later, though, he'll wake up and when he does he'll probably find that this is a dream within a dream about the island and he'll still be in lockup in that shitty Australian jail.
Yeah, that's about how he figures it. Looking around the room, he shakes his head. No more asteroid belt gossip rags for a while.
Goodnight, Moon.