I couldn’t believe it. She’s dead.
Cyril’s body lay there impaled as guilt is swallowed through the saliva in my pharynx.
It’s all my fault. What is wrong with me? When has love ever been enough for murder?
The bloodshot eyes of Cyril stare at me like medusa turning me into stone.
“Cyril”, the breath is drawn as I hear a whisper in my ear.
You murdered me!
Thrash!
Water tackles the boat as the scrum of people are rocked by the impact. Squashed to the rough wooden texture of the boat by Lombard I couldn’t help but think of her.
Blue. Only blue. Apart from the monotonous clouds blue was the only colour seen.
I couldn’t bare staring at it any longer. The crashing waves were too similiar to those which carried Cyril’s floating body to shore.
I close my eyes. Blackness. I’d rather black than blue.
“Look! It’s soldier island!” exclaimed Wargrave from the left side of the boat.
My eye lids open in hope Wargrave is right and this blue has ended. Through the mist