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    The Lost Word – Chapter 3

    Story written on April 30, 2007 by The L Word RPG.
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    Number of Comments: 2
    Words: 4770
    Story Shortlink: https://lesfan.com/?p=65528
    Author Notes:

    “Hey, lie back, I don’t want you hurting yourself,” Dr. Wilson told the frantic Shane. “Let me look at his leg. I’m a doctor.”

    Patricia Morales

    “Is anyone hurt? I’m a doctor!”

    When Patricia heard those words being shouted, it seemed like a gift from the heavens.

    “Over here!” she shouted back and stood up waving but not knowing where the voice had come from. Hopefully whoever the doctor was, she would be able to see them.

     

    Shay McCutcheon

    Shay wanted to know why his mother was proud of him. He squeezed her hand in both of his.

    His eyes were welling up, stinging.

    He lifted the wet cloth and began to gently wipe the blood from her face. He was ready to burst into tears. He couldn’t let her see him like this. It would upset her more.

    It made him feel better, not having to look at her with all that blood there.

    "Mom! Stay awake!"
     

    Shane McCutcheon

    Shane pinched her eyes shut when Shay started rubbing the wet cloth in her face. He had dipped the cloth into the ocean and drenched it in salt water and the stinging pain from the salt coming into her wounds was well enough to keep her awake. She let out a hitched breath she hadn’t even realised she was holding. “It’s okay, Shay,” she gasped, “you don’t… have to do that.”

     

    Dylan Moreland

    Dylan closed up on one of the cylinder shaped pieces of the airplane, still without having found any of her belongings. What if all of her things had ended up in the ocean? Fuck. But she wasn’t giving up yet; she hadn’t checked this part of the beach.

    Right in front of her she suddenly saw a tall young man standing up, holding an open bag in one of his hands, digging through it with the other. He held up a camera and took a close look at it.

    “Hey!” she shouted. “That’s mine!”

     

    Mark Wayland

    Mark Wayland couldn’t find any of his things. He had been searching through luggage scattered all over the place, but to no avail. This was driving him insane– he needed his camera, when else was he going to get the opportunity to film the aftermath of a plane crash? To speak with the survivors? This shit was golden! Finally, he would have his ticket out of the porn business (not that he hated it that much …) and a chance to be a legit film maker.

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