Geoff rolled onto his back and peered up at the distant temple ceiling in thought. He wondered what was happening back home. By now, the plane's disappearance must have been reported. No one knew of his attempt to fly out of Scotland, and he was already homeless, so if by some chance his parents noticed he wasn't in town, they probably thought he migrated to another one or was murdered.
Maybe after all this time, his father finally realized how stupid their fight was and regrets his decision to kick him out so early. Geoff still wouldn't have wanted to go back, at least if this island incident didn't happen. Now he would love to go back. He was tired of being hungry all the time, tired of fighting and fleeing for his life, tired of worrying any step could get him killed. And maybe... maybe he actually missed his parents a little bit, as well as the rest of his family. They may have not approved of him entirely, but they still cared.
How long had he been on this island, anyway? It was hard to remember. So much stuff happened, and his sleeping schedule had been sporadic. A week? Eight, nine days? Maybe more than that. Lord.
And only time will tell how many more are ahead...
