Booker Childs - He/Him - 32 - tags: Mention of Eddison, Lysander, Rayne, and the dogs
Bookerโs vision was blurry as the waves slowly lapped over his back. His consciousness was gradually returning to him. In the far distance, he faintly heard the sound of someone yelling, and thenโฆ a dog barkingโฆ? But he didnโt care; it was all white noise to him right now.
he heaved his body onto dry land from the shallows; a death grip around his heavy satchel so tight that not even the storm that sunk the ship could pry it from him. Everything inside was likely destroyed, he knew, but on the off chance that there was even a single salvageable page left of his work, his unconscious body refused to let go.
Finally free from the pull of the waves, Booker planted his hands into the wet sand and hacked up seawater, taking the contents of his stomach with it. Hunched over the earth, a rogue drop of blood trickled down his face and stained the soggy soil beneath him. He touched his head, realizing with a jolt of pain that it was was pounding, and when he pulled back his hand, his fingertips were painted in the red ink; likely a concussion, but he couldnโt exactly remember how he got it. Thatโฆ probably isnโt good, he thought.
With an involuntary groan of pain, Booker forced himself to his feet and shakily made his way inland, still tightly clutching the sopping remains of his bag.
Not far from the shore, Booker found himself too weak to continue and plopped himself down on a small boulder overlooking the jungle. With a huff of exhaustion and a silent prayer, he opened his satchel, and his stomach twisted itself into knots. The large manila folder full of handwritten notes, documents and diagrams; a 17th century entomology encyclopedia he had borrowed from the library; his only pack of cigarettes; all shredded, ink-stained, and warped from water damaged. That, and a laptop he didnโt even bother to try turning on; he knew it wouldnโt.
However, much to his surprise (and immense relief), exactly three items managed to survive the storm: his own personal leather-bound notebook, a signed copy of โThe Diversity of Lifeโ by Edward O Wilson, and a pen. Of course, he would have to separate and dry out the pages to ensure they wouldnโt stick together, but at least for the most part, the thick covers of two of his most precious belongings had saved them from certain destruction.
Finally at ease, Booker ignored the commotion of strangers and dogs as they approached, likely looking for survivors if he had to guess, and started carefully hanging up the two books by their covers on the low-hanging branch of an evergreen oak; their pages sloppily sprawling out and dividing themselves automatically. He also draped a few pages from the manila folder up as well. He doubted they could be salvaged, but he didnโt have the heart to not at least try. If he had at least one of these things with him, he knew he could survive whatever unbelievable situation he had found himself in. This island didnโt worry himโฆ the problem was his fellow castaways
.
