((Colin Falcone continued from All's Fair
((Set somewhere between dusk day 5 and dawn day 6.))
It was dark. Hours since he had left the relative comfort and illusion of a population long past. Hours since he had watched Jacob's final moments. He had looked so peaceful in his death. It was quick, and hopefully for his late friend, painless.
It had also been hours since he had seen Tim. Quickly spinning on his heel and darting back from whence he had came, everyone in the Town Square had departed. Bounce, Vic, Alice, and Tim were all nowhere to be seen. He had called out; nay, screamed Tim's name. He had hoped beyond all hope he was still in earshot. It couldn't have been that long since he had moved, could it?
Despair. Unfathomable despair. When one found a final source of strength in a purely hopeless situation, it was amazing how Dependant they became on it. Whether or not Tim had helped Colin in any tangible way, he was still needed beyond anything that Colin could possibly comprehend up to that moment. He had never in his live valued anyone or anything so dearly. Now, knowing Tim was somewhere on this island of killers alone made him cringe and writhe in mental, emotional agony. His friend, his truest friend, someone with whom he shared a bond incomprehensible to those viewing in their posh living rooms, the safety and comfort of their own homes, would ever understand.
And to them, this was just a game. Fiction. Drama. It was enough to make him sick.
If he could feel anything, anything at all through the tears. The sadness. The depression.
But no one had come, when he called in the Town Square. And after what had felt like hours, he finally wandered away. Resolved that the last he would see of his friend would be that incident. Screaming. Anger. Paranoia. Hatred. All these negative emotions that would mar their final memories of the other.
Colin wasn't a religious boy. But if there was ever a time to become one, it was now. The comfort that the thought of a God and a Heaven brought was beyond relief. It was a guarantee that he and Tim would see each other again. He wanted beyond anything in the world to believe that when his time inevitably came, that he would see everyone again.
Such a tragedy for a mother to survive her son.
Wandering. Pointless, and aimless. His feet carried him where his feet willed. He was a tumbleweed, no purpose or direction left to his life. Oh, but if only he had his phone, finding Tim would just be that much easier. But... But it wasn't meant to be. Cruel fate obviously wanted him off to his own devices, a scared, lonely, lost little lamb. And that he had become. Without Tim, all direction was gone. His mind, his thoughts began to repeat themselves. He had trouble remembering his own mind's wanderings from one moment to the next, let alone those of his feet.
Pain was his motive. Survive till that next announcement. Pray that Tim's name was not there. Hope. What a ray of hope it would be. Tim would still be alive, and he could find him. He somewhere remembered hearing that people were most likely to die within the first few hours of getting lost. He didn't remember where. He didn't even know if he had just made that up. A rationalization? A defense mechanism for an ailing mind, trying to give itself hope? Convincing himself that if Tim survived until sunrise, that he would be alive forever and ever, just waiting for Colin?
Everything that the poor boy's mind could conceive of going wrong had just gone wrong.
He wasn't paying attention. Not thinking straight. His feet were heavy on the ground, earth crunching and snapping, his footsteps sounding like that of a drunken moose.
Not that difficult for someone to hear him coming a mile away.
When had he wandered into the woods? It was dark too. He didn't remember that happening. His mind, a flashback. Tim wasn't there when he was talking. Was Tim a figment of his imagination? Did he really ever meet up with Tim? Jacob was real. Watched him die, something that horrible had to be real. His mind was going. He could feel it. He wasn't sane, there was no way. Weren't there stories of people hallucinating that their long dead friends were still with them? Never realizing it? A way to cope. Coping was what everyone was doing.
His eyes darted from tree to tree. Everything looked the same. He was a drunken man, drunk on fear, drunk on despair. Wandering and stumbling his way towards sweet release.
Noise. A clearing up ahead.
Not thinking clearly. He went right for it. Ignore the danger. Ignore the background, the island, the setting. Safety. Another person.