#thread.elijah

There was a lot to explore about the island. So many places that made no sense, so much undiscovered wilderness, places unknown to everyone - probably - who had landed on this strange island. And people were out discovering. 

Adarsh had seen multiple people sneak off, team up, or carelessly wander off. He wondered how many of them would survive the week. 

He found that he didn’t much care if some wouldn’t make it back. 

That thought didn’t make him feel ashamed, just eager for more information. Clearly he had a personality, and personality was usually built up by memories, by culture, by nurture. But he had zero information on any of those aspects. He didn’t know what language his thoughts were in, he didn’t know where he was from - just that he looked Indian… probably - and that his clothes suggested that either he’d lived at the beach or he had been visiting one. Also that he didn’t have enough money for socks… probably. Or enough money to replace his shoes. 

Something had happened to his body. But he had no clue if it had been an accident or a fight or perhaps an attack on his life! 

So he tried food again. 

There was a recipe somewhere in a corner of his brain, which he wanted to try and create, and perhaps the taste of it would bring back memories of home, of family, of parents who made it for him. 

The thought of that turned his stomach and made him want to vomit. 

Instead he just leaned against the door of the Warehouse and took deep breaths. Five seconds in, ten seconds out, repeat. 

Had he done yoga? 

He tapped the seconds on the surface of the door, then a shadow fell over his fingers and he almost backed away from the door rapidly. 

Baskar set out to do what they did best: help as many people as possible, get to know as many people as possible, and be as useful as possible. But now there was an added happiness because for the first time in a long time: they didn’t think they’d be found out and then had to move again. They didn’t think their father was going to take them away. 

Sure, they had actual ghosts haunting them now, and they were jumpy and scared all the time when they heard the voices. But it was a small trade for being rid of their father. Because everyone around them had always said they were imagining their father, but they knew he was real, not a ghost, but real. They’d gladly trade that in for ghosts any time. 

They were carrying a bag filled with hand-made lunch-boxes, handing out lunch to people who might not be thinking about such a thing like food right now. Good thing that some of the jobs they’d held over the years were in the food industry. They were certain that everyone could appreciate a good home-made lunch filled with whatever they could find. No two lunch boxes were the same.