Monday, October 24th, 8:33 A.M.
It's raining this morning. I have a headache, a headwound, I'm hungry,
and it's raining. Fuck.
Rinoa woke up before I did. It's fascinating how she's managed to
maintain her beauty in these conditions.
It's something that makes me regret fucking up my relationship with her
all the more. When Rinoa noticed I was
awake she came over, sat down next to where I had been sleeping, and started
talking to me. "You're awake."
"Yeah.
You been up long?"
"Not really.
How's your head?"
"I've got a headache, but other than that I
feel fine."
Rinoa moved my tourniquet aside to take a look at my
headwound. "I don't like the look
of that wound. We should get you to a
hospital."
"Where's Gin?
Maybe he knows where a hospital is."
Rinoa's face turned sad at the mention of Gin's
name. With tears in her eyes, Rinoa
looked at me and said, "You know the plane crash I told you about."
"Yeah. I
don't remember the crash, but you told me about it."
"When the plane hit the ground, you and Gin hit
your heads pretty hard. You survived,
Gin didn't. The tourniquet you're
wearing is made from Gin's shirt."
I touched the area of my wound. The material that made up the now departed
Gin's shirt feels nice. I bet Gin liked
wearing this shirt when he was alive. As
I touched my wound, I became concerned about Rinoa's health. "Are you okay?"
"What do you mean?"
"You went through the crash too. Did you get cut up at all?"
When I asked her this question, a flash of happiness
came over Rinoa's face, for what reason I still don't know. "I don't think I got too terribly cut
up, at least nothing as bad as your head.
My back has been bugging me.
Would you mind looking at it?"
A woman I adore was asking me to look at her
body. Only one answer to that question
came to my mind. "Sure."
Rinoa turned away from me and lifted her shirt
up. This is a moment that would have
been much more monumental for me if it were done in a completely different
context. Rinoa looked over her shoulder
at me and asked, "Does my back look fine?"
I couldn't enthusiastically say yes, so I went with
a clinical response. "I don't see
anything wrong. There's some scrapes but
nothing too deep, and certainly nothing that looks too terribly bad."
Upon hearing me with my non-existent medical
expertise pronounce her to be physically sound, Rinoa put her shirt back
down. "That's good to
hear." Rinoa stood up and started
looking around the general area. "I
think I see a hill within walking distance.
We should go up there and see if there are any cities around."
"All right." I started to get up before Rinoa stopped me.
"No, Hato, you stay here. I'm going to go back to the plane and see if there
are canteens among the wreckage."
"I can help you look."
"No, don't.
With as bad as that wound is, I don't want you exerting yourself more
than you need to." What Rinoa said
and the tone, the forceful yet caring tone, which she used to say it is making
me think. What if my head is really
messed up? What if this wound is
infected? What if the infection makes me
sick? What if I die from the
sickness? What if I can't get to Amcan
to tell the world what's going on in Dolore?
As I'm sitting here waiting for Rinoa to come back
there are a lot of questions in my head.
Too many questions with too few answers.
My hope is that getting up and moving and finding a nearby town will
lead to me finding answers. Hopefully
the rain will let up before then. I can
only hope.
Later.
Hato Shurtleff
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