Never One to Play Well With Others

[ronslater]

DAY 1 - SUNSET- ANNABELLE DECIDES TO BE ANTISOCIAL, BUILDS A FIRE ALONE

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It had been several hours since the plane had ripped apart and crashed on what seemed to be a jungle island. Night was quickly approaching as Annabelle trudged slowly across the expanse of the wreckage site. Her expression was dull as she was still in a bit of shock over having survived an actual plane crash and her hands still shook slightly as she fumbled through the debris of suitcases and assorted pieces of luggage that had been thrown free during the impact. She'd already been at her search for at least forty minutes and had still found none of what was hers.

It hadn't been in the fuselage either... the particular overhead compartment had ripped open at some point during the ordeal to expel its contents, causing them to fly out through the ruined plane. For the hundredth time since, Anna wondered if her head injury had been caused by her own carry-on and she shakily reached up to run her hand through her tangled hair.

Deciding that it would be soon be too dark to continue her search with much chance of success, she shook herself out of her misery as best she could muster and turned around to head further up the shoreline. Her pace picked up a bit as she weaved her way out of the metal graveyard of sorts, trying to avoid having to look at or step on any of the still scattered bodies as she went.

As she made her way up the beach, she noticed a number of her fellow survivors setting up small fires and even a few makeshift tents. Annabelle stopped to watch them from afar for a few long moments, debating whether or not she should join them. In the end, her antisocial tendencies won out and she looked away, scanning the tree line for a moment before falling into a stride in that direction.

Thankfully, she'd been lucky enough to have half a box of matches in her pocket during the flight, having forgotten to put it back in her bag with her cigarettes, cell phone and a few other things. She reached the edge of the forest within a few moments, and began to gather small branches and twigs from the ground, crouching down so she could get more to carry over to the overturned seat that had broken off from the plane's interior. By the look from a distance it had seemed only minorly damaged.

When Annabelle had amassed a few pounds of wood into her arms, she rose to her feet and began to walk over to the plane piece. Upon reaching it, she dropped the wood into a vague resemblance of a pile and walked over to the dislodged seat. The aspiring horror writer stopped next to it and reached down to grip the headrest part, slowly righting it so she would be able to sit down.

Once her task was completed, she went back to the pile of wood and began to arrange it into a more workable pyre, then dug out her matches. She lit one and cursed as it fizzled out before she could get the leaves on one of the branches alight. Her second attempt was more successful and with ease she managed to get a halfway decent blaze started.

Not having any desire to help anyone else out, she dropped onto the cushioned seat and pulled her legs up to fold them under her. Anna remained silent for several long minutes, just looking into the orange flickers that rose above the wood. She's caught completely off-guard as someone came up behind her to stand a few feet away before they'd announced their presence, and only just managed to bite back a scream, her nerves being as shot as they were.

"Don't sneak up on me!" She growled angrily, not liking that she'd not picked up on the other person's presence until they'd been almost on top of her.[/blockquote][/size]

[des]

Several hours after the initial crash, the survivors had rallied together. They had taken care of those who did not survive, burying them along the treeline of the jungle. The rest who suffered injuries, had been taken care of as best as the only medic in the group could. Her concussion was mild and after being checked, it was deemed that she would be alright, but had to be watched for a few hours if she fell asleep. The gash in her side had been sewn up and patched with a bit of gauze to keep out infection. She still ached, but as time went on she felt better. She had gotten the easy way out, some were worse off than she was. The survivors began to form groups on the shore, building campfires for light as the sun began to set. Small, makeshift tents formed as well.

Samantha's supplies had barely survived the crash. Her luggage was either scorched or lost when the plane went down. She only a few small provisions left that remained inside the plane, unharmed. Crossing her arms over her chest, she let out a huff of mild irritation. Her jaw pushed outwards, directing the puff of air upwards and causing her bangs to flutter. What remained of the clothes she packed was in a lone suitcase she had drug from the luggage hatch. The edges were charred and frayed but part of the wardrobe survived. She was currently clothed in a simple, slightly over sized, grey camisole paired with light washed jean shorts. She had kicked off her sandals, her normal tennis shoes still in the suitcase.

She shifted her weight to her right foot as she watched the groups converse and comfort each other. The air was much too heavy and though she understood why, she didn't really want to be around it any longer. She glanced toward the still smoldering and smoking fuselage. She grew tired of looking at the wreckage. She shifted once more in discomfort. Her mind whirled with questions and worries, causing a migraine to set in. The concussion partially at fault for the ache as well. Shaking her head, gingerly, she moved across the shore line. Since the sun had gone down, the temperature followed suit. She tightened her arms around her midsection for warmth. She had packed for the summer and wasn't sure if her light cardigan had made it through the crash.

Shrugging it off, she looked over the groups, deeming the air among them too heavy with emotions to want to be around. She was a social creature so she wasn't about to sit all alone with her own fire. She caught sight of a smaller fire a yard or so off from the rest of the survivors. Closer to the tree line and clearly away from the group. She frowned, considering joining the solitary soul. She wanted someone to talk to and take her mind off of the terror and stress of the day. Deeming this person decidedly more upbeat than the dreary clusters around her, she moved across the beach toward them. She tread carefully, making little noise against the sand. They seemed to want to be left alone, but Samantha was not one to sit alone and mope. She believed everyone needed company from time to time.

Even if said person had a very menacing aura. She wasn't afraid though, she had been through worse that day. One grouchy person wasn't about to shoo her away with her metaphorical tail between her legs. She inched closer, noting the lone female's body tensed as she shuffled her feet against the sand to announce her presence. She bit back a slight yelp and tried to suppress the sudden jerk of her body. She glared at the snappy retort and rolled her eyes. "I wasn't trying to sneak up on you. Calm down...geeze." She replied, tersely. Her nerves were frayed enough from the crash, she didn't need some antisocial outcast wannabe copping an attitude with her. All she wanted was to keep the girl company and make sure no one went off the deep end and snapped.

"I just wanted to see if you wanted some company. No need to bite my head off." She replied, moving in front of the girl and on the opposite side of the fire. She carefully eased down to the ground, bending her knees into a squat. She hovered for a moment, before dropping back onto her behind and stretching her legs out, keeping them bet up at the knees. Her arms loosened from her midsection as the fire began to warm her skin. She had managed to tie her thick, blonde hair up into a messy ponytail. She always wore an elastic around her wrist from time to time. Settling into the lukewarm grass, she let the fire warm her limbs as she gazed into the flickering flames, absently. She leaned forward, resting her arms on top of her knees, folded one over the other. So...how are you holding up?" She asked after a moment's pause. Might as well try to be civil and carry a conversation. No use having enemies when in a time of need. Everyone was on edge that day, so who was she to get mad because one person snapped at her?

word count: 895
tag: Annabelle
wearing: this, minus the bag

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