The shore at night

Blinking, Frank examined the tall palm trees spreaded accross the white sand. The sun was diving off the horizon, making the scenery around them very orange-red, very cliché. The temperature was lower than before, sending Frank a nervous shiver down the spine now that Pete's body heat was no longer by his side.

What came next?

"Tomorrow, we should look for survivors," Frank stated with a frown. He stood up on his tired legs. "Right now, we should just... find a place to sleep."

Frank tagged along, but a weight pressed on his shoulders. Guilt and Frank didn't go well together.

"Pete," Frank hesitated. "Pete, wait. I'm sorry... I'm sorry for not jumping right away when you began to drown."

Frank raised his eyebrows, both relieved from what he heard and uneasy toward Pete's winces. He caught up with him, and without much of a second thought wrapped a supporting arm around Pete, turning into a human crutch for his friend.

He never imagine how things could get fucked up from there. What was he doing? Being that close to Pete was far from normal. He had to keep in mind that he was helping out. There was nothing more to it. He was lending a hand to Pete who had an intoxicating smell surrounding him.

"Let's get over there," he whispered, nodding toward a boulder surrounded by three palm trees. The water wouldn't rise up to there.

Frank walked his friend to the said spot, carefully sitting Pete against the rock. By then, the sun had dissapeared and the moon had settled above them.

Without a noise, he flopped beside him and took a deep breath.

"We have a show tomorrow," Frank mentioned distantly.

"I know," Franked looked down.

The reminder of his lost (and probably destroyed) guitar pulled at his heart.

His guitar.

It was sickening, the entire plot where he couldn't lay his fingers on a row of frets. No more music. For how long?

Frank layed on his back, counting the waves as he counted the mesures through every song. Up to four then repeat.

"I know," Frank agreed. The sand would be mangled in his hair when they reached morning.

The last thing he did before falling asleep was to cling at Pete's shirt, a reassurance that there'd be someone to remind him that he wasn't alone in this wreck.

Who opened the fucking window?

Frank stired. Birds. No; seagulls. Lots of 'em.

Should he open his eyes? An inside voice tells him that he has to remember something very important, but still half-asleep it's whether not a primary choice or it's simply impossible.

Damn, that mattress ain't comfy at all.

His foot swooned to the right, and confused at the lack of bed sheets and the grainy texture under it, Frank's eyelids flipped up.

The beach, the seagulls (the damned seagulls), the shore, the palm trees, the jungle, and finally the fine line of smoke rising above all.

"Oh yeah," he recalled.

On his side, Pete was sleeping curled up in a ball, and Frank poked his side as a wake up call.

"We need to get going. See if there are other survivors or something," Frank explained.

He stood up, eyes avoiding the shore. They were going in he jungle.

His eyes darted at a small silhouette that was moving toward them. There was someone, meaning a survivor, at actually less than a mile from them. A jolt of happiness lightened Frank's features, and he found it difficult to hide his ecstatic smile.

Not carring if Pete would tag along or not, he clumsily started running, tripping too many times in the sand. He needed to know so many things... were there more survivors? Was this a deserted island? Could they be rescued? Did they have food?

Frank was listing up all his questions, waving at the approaching man. All these thoughts blinded him from a hollow spot in the sand and he soon found himself landing mouthfirst at the feet of the said person.

Shaking, Frank dusted off his right hand on his shirt before welcoming Mikey's and dragging himself up.

"I... Yes, I'm... Frank," he stuttered. "You know me?"

He scanned the guy attentively, not being able to match his face to a previous encounter.

"Oh, yeah, of course," Frank replies a little surprised. "It's just... people have eyes mostly for Gerard or Mikey. Well, usually."

Frank looked around, desperate to see someone else. "Are you... alone?"

Frank had trouble nailing down why that random dude was more concerned about his band than the scenario that was rather hard to miss. Hello, plane crash... desert island...

He opted to ignore his comments on the groupies. "But... There are more people, right? And do they have a cell phone... a talkie... a radio, something?!"

Staring at him in disbelief, Frank was on the brink of hysteria. He stepped forward to snatch the gadget from Mikey's hand, fumbling with it.

"D-Does it work?!"